Ambient
by Caliburn
Summary: The British magical community is on the verge of collapse. Two factions at war for what's left of society, Hermione's fled the country, Ron's losing himself, Tonks is dying, Luna's been murdered & Harry's living alone in Gringotts. A Harry Potter Mystery.
1. Chapter 1

**I never understood the point of these, but: *Characters not mine, idea is.***

* * *

"Hermione Granger called it a Magical Supernova.

"I heard that the flash of spell-fire was visible from the fleeing Hogwarts Express for well over fifteen minutes, and the tingle of the ambient magic in the air responding to such tense use had hairs standing on end, and doorknobs shocked anyone who decided to move.

"Very few people decided to do so; I'm sure, considering most of the students were paralyzed at the prospects of what was happening atop the castle they had called home. As they fled the scene, their headmaster battled the…creature…known as Voldemort in what was surely the greatest clash of magic any of them would be witness to in their lifetimes. Only, they weren't being witness to any of it. The school had been evacuated, and no one was there. Just the two and their warring magic.

"At least that was how it was meant to be. But I found myself watching the Hogwarts Express pull from the station from outside of the Three Broomsticks, Ron and Hermione staring wide-eyed through the windows as they passed. A cheeky wave, and I took off running in the other direction, silently praying that if there was enough distance between me and the tracks, they wouldn't be able to come back for me.

"It was a practice of repetition, running through the tunnel that lead from the Three Broomsticks back to Hogwarts, as it was a path I knew well at that point. Restrictions on leaving the castle, coupled with the promise of some…_outside instruction,_ if I did make it out and into Hogsmeade, led me to sneaking along that path at least several times a week. And there I was, running it for potentially the last time. One way or another, I wouldn't be sneaking out of the castle anymore, not with Dumbledore battling Voldemort just above me.

"Lowering my head, I charged forward and into the castle, to hopefully help the headmaster of my school battle my destined arch-enemy."

I stop there and lift the tin tankard up and take a deep drink. At least I appear to, the thing has been empty longer than the drunk fool sitting next to me has been here, so he has no idea that I am not, in fact, downing yet another long swig of the house brew.

"…And then what?" He's anxious. The words come out slurred, but with a twinge of impatience to them that clearly show that he has listened to the story this long, for this one particular part.

Too bad. "Well, the thing about a supernova is this. A star burns brightest before is burns out, it's a huge flash, one last glorious expulsion of energy, and then it's gone. But the only thing about a star that goes is, it then becomes a black hole. Everything the star was, the black hole isn't, and is, all at once."

The blank stare is amazingly hilarious. He's trying to figure out how this connects to the amazing tale of magic and bravery, the play-by-play on the fight he was hoping to get. It doesn't and does, in all the ways that matter, but I won't be telling him how. "You see, a black hole has amazing gravity. Stronger than even the star it had been. It doesn't shine, doesn't provide warmth. It doesn't promote life. It eats everything. This, incidentally, reminds me of a relative of mine, but that's neither here nor there. The point I am making is this. The site of Hogwarts, is a black hole. The reason it has become this is of no importance to you, and yes, that also includes how that happened. The important thing is this: though it's not devouring everything, from the plant life to the earth around it itself, it _is_ eating. But only one specific thing." Pausing for dramatic effect and pretending to drink again, I leave him on the edge of his seat. Literally, if I kicked out with my foot, he'd fall on his ass from even the lightest tap to the chair. "Hogwarts is eating magic."

The look on his face told me the amazing information I had just provided was not what he had been looking for, and there was an undertone of anger to his next words. "So what does this have to do with anything?"

"Easy. All of the magical problems that England has been suffering since, the nationwide drop in magical ability, is because of just that. Hogwarts, is eating it. The school went from cultivating the next generation's magical abilities, making them stronger, to almost…repossessing the gift it gave them all.

"Truth be told, I'm happy for it. Wish I could go take back some of the work I put into the Dursley house." Looking toward the man, I know I've done what I aimed to accomplish. I'm not stupid, and I know when someone is seeking me out, but pretending not to be. I called him over, which I'm sure was a shock, and it only goes to show a lot of restraint and acting ability that the shock didn't show. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go and have a smoke. Damn those laws about doing that inside bars now, right?" And I slip out the door.

The man follows out with exactly an eight second delay. And at nine seconds, he finds himself pushed face-first into the wall in the alleyway which we had both exited out of.

"So, why have you been trailing me?" Silence answers my question, so I try it again, and the same result. "You know, I could beat the answer out of you."

"Then why haven't you?" He asks through gritted teeth, only to feel my hold on him release. He turns to look at me, fingering the wand peeking out of the bottom of his sleeve.

"Simple, really. I don't hit women."

"What? I have no idea what you're talking about, but I'll-" I cut in, because I really don't have the time, or patience, for half-assed denials.

"Drop it Tonks. Just drop it, literally, drop the face." The boring, unremarkable; and most importantly, male, features melted away to reveal the slight, upturned nose, the dark hair, and the defiantly pierced lip of Nymphadora Tonks. "I knew it was you the second you walked in, just so we can skip the old annoying 'how did you know' nonsense. I hope you got the information you were looking for, though, as we both know, I would have told you as much as I did if you had just come up to me and asked." She's stepped away from the wall some, so I take this opportunity to step even closer, seeing if she'll back away into the wall, or stand her ground. She stays put, and I'm sure she notices the slight smirk on my face due to the corner of her lip twitching as well, and the straighter posture she adopts. "And I'm sure you also know that, given a bit more…_coercion_ on your part, I could be tempted to telling more." I've wedged myself between her and the wall, and I feel her lower body press into mine, her back ghosting just above my chest, before she removes the slight pressure of her form against me, and gives a slight shake of her head.

"Alright then. Good work, Auror Tonks." A slap to her ass, and I'm on my way out of the alleyway, leaving her standing there.

"Harry! Wait up!" She jogs after me until she is standing right behind me, I can feel her near me, but not her touching me. "You never told me _how_ you knew it was me."

"Ever think that maybe I didn't intend to?" She kicks me in the heel for this, and I begin walking in retaliation. She follows me, staying in stride and just close enough that she could hear me and I could hear her, without many others being able to. But that was immaterial to me, I have no intention of telling her anything. After all, if you leave them without answers, they have to come looking for some later, and the longer she's chasing me, the easier it will be for me to catch her. I'm glad she's behind me, as I'm sure I'm grinning quite widely at this point, but that fades as she speaks, since I know she won't let it drop without an answer.

"When I walked in, I was nowhere near you, and didn't even look at you. I looked nothing like how I usually look. How did you know, Potter?"

I could lie to her. It would be so easy. But why lie, when the truth is much less believable? "You _feel_ different." Vague, but not a lie. She makes it three more steps before my words seem to sink in, and she stops walking. I turn the corner, knowing she won't find me for at least some time.

Hopefully at least long enough for me to get the thoughts of what I would do to her; given half the chance and another go at her alone in a dark alley, out of my head.

* * *

I often have this feeling of being followed. The more philosophical in society would inform me that this is due to a feeling of guilt leading me to feel followed because I believe I deserve to be followed. Either that or I'm simply paranoid.

I'm not philosophical. I'm a bit more…blunt…in my view of the world I now live in. If I feel followed, someone's probably behind me. But if I've learned anything, it's that a sudden turn to try and catch a glimpse of whoever it was that was following you is not how you go about identifying the person. They expect that. The easiest way to do so, is to try and catch a reflection in a dirt-covered window, a puddle of stagnant water or the shattered and often blood-spattered glass of the burned-out streetlights.

Fortunately for me, all of those things are around me as I walk the street. Unfortunately for me, I still can't get a good view. Whoever it is that is following me is far from an amateur at tracking, and that doesn't bode well. Either they are self-trained and hopefully have no allegiance to any faction; or worse, they have been trained specifically to follow and elude detection.

I hope it isn't the latter.

As I move around a corner, I slow my walk and sink into a darker alcove, trying to see whoever it was. However, the very faint footsteps stop, and I see no one.

"Nice try Potter." Shit. "It's good to see you haven't lost that famed sense for detecting danger. I won't insult your intelligence saying I am no danger. But for now, I have no interest in testing that equally lauded survival ability of yours. Just know that I am watching you. _We _are watching you."

"Who do you work for."

"That, Potter, is something I cannot speak to you about. Not now." He walks off, and the words left unspoken are louder than anything else about him has been.

"_Not ever."_


	2. Chapter 2

Carrying on walking, I can't shake the feeling that I'm still being followed. Assuming it is my previous tail, I don't think much on it. That is, until the silence is interrupted by a voice, different from the one that had spoken to me, which immediately sets me on edge.

"_Expulso!_" Turning around quickly, to properly gauge where the spell is aimed, I dive in the opposite direction, pulling my wand from the inside of my coat. I don't recognize the face, but it doesn't matter who it is. Not in the least.

I intone an "_Impervius" _ aiming my wand to my side to buy time to assess and not dodge. Shrapnel from the cobblestone path flies up but is repelled by the spell, giving me moment to collect myself. At least it would have, had another _Expulso_ not come my way from the other side. Spinning to the side to present my protected side to the blast, preparing for the shock of rock shards should I be too slow. Most of it is blocked away, but I wasn't quick enough to avoid several slices to the side of the face. The warm crawl of blood down my jawline serves as a reminder of the dangers of sluggishness, and the drip of it off my eyebrow onto my cheek brings an eclectic rhythm to the fight.

Shaking my mind from its dwelling on my blood, I roll back, using the bit of dust in the air to my advantage. I move left only to just miss another _Expulso_ aimed in my direction. Does he _know_ any other spells?

This is nor the time, and _especially_ not the place for an extended firefight, so I know I have to end it fast. The blood now littering the side of my face gives me an idea, and I have to move fast. It's a stupid idea; better used with more able material, but I have to use what I have now. Beggars and choosers, and so on.

"_Tergeo."_ The blood sucks away from my face, but simply floats there, like some sickening veil, the lack of magic in the air preventing it from being vanished. Banishing it removes it from in front of me, and as it flies forward, it spreads in the air. The lack of light has made it a deep crimson, and just as I could hide while immobile in the dust, he can't see me! Firing a projected shielding spell, convex-forward, behind the steadily dissipating blood veil, I move to the side.

Allow me to say this: Wizards are interesting creatures. Few opponents of mine, even in this time, choose to dodge things coming toward them. Even as shield spells grow weaker by the second that they are cast, and are therefore easily bypassed. There is a reason for that. The population is weakening, and everyone can feel it. This brings about an obsession with magical power and the need to prove one's self strong in an age of growing weakness and magical deterioration. So, the everyday wizard will meet anything they do not understand, with either brute force, or a shielding spell.

Doesn't work so well for them, but works just fine for me. I'd rather get my cloak covered in dust, than have my head removed, thank you.

"_Expulso_." Seems he chose force.

Bad choice. And with that word, once against spoken, he seals his own fate. The shielding spell; _Protego_, while small and quite weak comparatively, has two very important positives to it. It can be projected at something, but more importantly, the spells that hits it, barring very powerful curses, gets reflected. No one-hundred-percent guaranteed direction where it would be reflected, but considered where the shield was at the time, point-blank ranged explosion curses don't miss.

His body rained from the sky, decorated the windows nearby, and painted the ground. His severed hand hit one of the few functioning street lamps lining the street, showering the ground with glass shards as the bulb flickered sporadically before blinking out. Under the flashing lights, I come to realize that seeing a human body explode is morbidly fascinating and I highly recommend everyone see it at least once. It's a way to see everything that makes a person work when so nicely put together, as it's all coming apart.

In the world most magical people live in now, no one don't go anywhere alone for this exact reason. Random attacks aren't as rare as they used to be, and it's not just "politically designated terrorists" doing them. I, however, do not live in the world that magical people live in, and routinely find myself walking through the deserted ruins of Diagon Alley in the middle of night. I have my reasons for doing so, and find myself unable to drag up the necessary energy to be afraid of things that cast spells in the night.

Even in the dead of night, my destination casts a shadow, looming at the end of the destroyed alley, rebelling against the desolation around it by somehow looking more immaculate than ever. Surrounded by years worth of deterioration and degradation, the large building appears even larger when flanked by rows of collapsing shops and empty streets.

Gringotts.

Since the Ambient Loss, the bank has gone.

Well; more specifically, the goblins have gone. The building still stands, but everything that made it the most secure bank in the United Kingdom went with its operators. In some ways, it made the bank vulnerable. In others, it made it impenetrable. When the Ambient Loss began impacting the bank, he magic sustaining the vault protections dropped, yes. But so did the magic holding together the railing system. The magic containing the dragons. The magic repelling the heat in the deep caverns. All gone. Barring the front doors, it is completely and utterly inaccessible from the outside. Ironic, the loss of ambient magic has literally turned Gringotts into a well-protected, hugely ornate, and astronomically expensive vault.

Even now, in its utter destruction, Hogwarts' influence runs deep, pun intended. The bank was my current base of operations, if you will. Physically well-protected, structurally sound, magic woven through much of the marble that crafted it. The place _reeks_ of magic, prestige and excess.

I love it here.

The goblins had been in a rush to get out. So much of a rush, tables were knocked over, gold coins scattered along the floor, scales still loaded with galleons and pounds, it was as if they had all just stepped out for a moment and would be returning any moment.

But they wouldn't. Sorta tends to be the case when their caves all collapse due to structural integrity issues. Took the ones caught in the collapse two weeks to finally die. I know, I had to hear them whine, groan and generally bitch for half of that before the blessed silence came. Admittedly, they might have kept complaining because they could see me sitting there, reclined on Ragnok's desk with my feet up, browsing through the records only a short distance from the Director's emergency escape tunnel.

Who would have thought the goblins had files on most major families with _Very Important Vaults_? Made me glad my vault wasn't anywhere near being classified as such, because honestly, I now know more about the Davis family than I ever wanted to know, _ever_. Why a goblin found it prudent to know Tracey's bra size, I don't know, nor why it seemed like it was important to be aware of the fact that the Patriarch of Clan Greengrass happened to be sleeping with said Davis…actually, I can completely understand why all of this is important.

Blackmail.

The goblins were absurdly rich. Ridiculously so, so much so that often, mini-trains of several mine cars filled with galleons left Gringotts every month, and that was just the cut of several of the goblin leaders who owned a slight percentage, below ten-percent. And a lot that gold was fees. Half the _Very Important Vaults_ were likely forced upon the families due to threats of blackmail. And those vaults had some of the most insane fees I have ever laid eyes on, likely more than many families made in an entire year. But one positive to these vaults is the fact that they happen to be in-house. As in, the actual bank.

Above ground.

Around the corner.

Away from huge fucking dragons.

In a place that isn't sitting at temperatures that break the body into a sweat just opening the door that used to house the mine cars.

And did I mention: Away from the huge fucking dragons?

Easy access, so on and so forth. What a wonderful service to offer. At least, it's wonderful for me, because it means I don't have to travel very far to pillage. And oh how I love my biweekly pillaging. I don't take the money anywhere, really, on average I just take money from one vault to a different one, just because I can. But other times, I just like to go in and destroy things, because…well, because I can.

You don't realize how much fun it is to do, until you find yourself dancing a jig in the Malfoy vault, atop the slowly dying portrait of one of their long-passed patriarchs. He'd sputtered about my offense to him and the coming revenge from his family right up until the magic sustaining it drained away. Seems to me that portraits so old didn't have the magic in the paint; but instead, drew magic from around them. Needless to say, such an "Old and Ancient" family as the Malfoys, were soon out of portraits that lived and spoke, all having been so old and archaic. No reason to improve what works, right?

It's a rare situation, but I find myself able to relax and feel completely unguarded. No one will be coming anywhere near where I am if they have any good sense, so anything that enters the doors of Gringotts will be upon my own choosing. Why won't anyone be coming here, when all of their money is here?

Gringotts is a huge, immaculately-designed, behemoth of an architectural alter to expense and commerce. It is also possibly the second largest structure depending on ambient magic in all of the UK, after Hogwarts. Everything from the opening and closing of the doors, to the safety and maintenance of the vaults, all the way down to the continued circulation of air in the air-tight building, was controlled by wards that operated off of the ambient magic released by the daily bustling of witches and wizards through the doors. Whereas Hogwarts seems to be sucking wraway ambient magic, Gringotts seems to be a literal dead zone of magic. It's possible to perform magic here, but the wards are so starved, there is this constant dampening feeling. Closest I can equate the feeling to, is trying to breathe through a heavy, wet, wool cloth covering your face. It feels sick and wrong just being here to most, and as such, they stay away.

Best place to hide, is in plain sight, where no one would go even if they did find out you were there. This is my home now. Yes, from a cupboard under the stairs, to the Bank Manager's office in a place constructed primarily of ancient wood and marble, reclining my feet on a new pile of gold coins every night!

Harry Potter sure has come up in the world!

"Hey Tonks!" She's just outside of the doors, I can see her. I consider waving to her, but she can't see me, so it would be moot. But I might as well do it regardless, so I wave at her before I head toward the door. I pause to look at her through the one-way glass, a moment where she is completely unguarded in front of me. I know what they think of me, all of them, and I know how it causes her to react to my presence. But here she is, knowing she's going to see me, but unknowing I see her.

I knew she was tailing me, somewhere in the back of my mind, and I could feel her at the door even before I looked up from the floor to confirm it. In such an empty void of magic, like I said, the way she…_feels_…is different. It's resounding. It travels, and carries. She smells of leaking energy and the air tastes of her colors. Her very existence so close to me is paralyzing in such a strong dose, compounded by the emptiness of all else nearby.

She feels of death.

The Ambient Loss is killing her.

And she doesn't even know it.

And walking in here, leaking magic all over everything…this place would eat her alive, suck her dry, and leave her dying on the cold marble floor, even as the earth beneath her reached out to partake in the remnants and fragments of the essence she once exuded with each breath.

Guess I should open the door and let her in?

* * *

"…And then I was like, 'you can't put it there because it belongs over there!' and she was all, 'really?', it was amazing." I can't stop laughing at this point, and look to her to gain a level of comedic agreement. "Why aren't you laughing?"

"Because you started the story with '…and then I was like', Harry."

Sometimes I worry about Tonks ever since the Ambient Loss. She used to be so bright and upbeat, and now she just can't see the hilarity in a good, quality anecdote. I even did the voices for her. But, it's her choice to be a sourpuss, I mean, I was only doing it to try and cheer her up. After all, she is the one dying, not me.

I'm sure she's wondering why we are sitting on the steps outside of the bank instead of inside of it, but even if she did find the courage to ask, I wouldn't answer her. So it's a good thing she didn't bother to enquire.

"Something's wrong, Harry."

"You don't say?" A cuff to the side of the head is her response to that, and I have to continue making note of the kinds of comedy that Tonks seems adverse to. A lack of positive reaction to sarcasm is another sad part of the person she has become, I must say. "What is it, Tonks?"

"Everything feels off. I mean, besides the whole, loss of ambient magic thing that we spoke about earlier. It's like," she pauses to find the words, before turning on her step to face me. I've been watching her at three-quarter view this whole time; but as she turns, I can tell that won't work for her too much longer. "It's like something is wrong with _me_. Everything feels different, like a part of me is seeping away into the cracks of the earth beneath me every time I stop long enough to let it." Poetic, I have to say. And not at all incorrect, in fact, more right than she'd ever believe.

She finally gets me to face her, and her face changes instantly upon seeing mine. I know she's finally seen the cuts I got from the shrapnel from the earlier fight, though the look she gives makes me wish I hadn't allowed her to. I have this habit of not healing scrapes and cuts that I get, as soon as I get them. The body naturally heals itself, and I see no reason to insert magic into that.

"Harry!" She won't drop it until I tell her. I have this thing about attracting bull-headed women into my general vicinity, I know it, so I figure I might as well just let her know now.

"It's nothing, I got attacked on the way back from our meeting. Don't beat yourself up about it, I see you preparing to, so stop it. I can protect myself better than anyone could protect me, and it wasn't a particularly difficult fight. He got me while my mind was on other things. Leaving these here as a reminder to myself of what not focusing causes." The end is a lie, but she doesn't need to know more about me than I feel comfortable telling.

She reaches out as if to touch the cuts, but I move away from her instantly. She reeks of magic, it rolls off of her, and the closer she gets to me, the more it starts to wash over me, invade my pores, and take hold on my body. She's a beautiful girl, and in her vulnerability, there's a…

"I have to go, Tonks." If there was one thing I was attempting to avoid during all of this, it was finding a reason to get myself involved in the state of the world right now. I was out, and I was staying out. "I understand what you mean, and I fully get the confusion. All I can say to you is…go. Leave. Get off of this island, leave Europe. That pull you're feeling, it'll calm as you go further south. It will stop entirely once you hit the mainland. But don't stop there. Keep going." I have to turn away from her at this point. The apparent rejection has set about a chain reaction in her face. Blue began to bleed into her hair, her eyes began to appear to tear up, and her whole countenance reflected her sadness. I couldn't bear to see her like this. "Get out of here while you can. It will get a lot worse, and _won't get better_. Trust me on this." I start to walk away, and she hasn't moved.

"Fine. If you aren't going to leave, then be here when I get back. I don't know when that will be, and neither do you. But be prepared for whatever I do, to make you feel better." And from there, I have to leave. I can't be around her anymore, as she leaks her magic everywhere. "Do not enter the bank. Do not."

I hope she listens. If she walks in there like that, the place will eat her alive. Literally.

* * *

The feeling of being followed pulses around in the back of my head, and annoyance begins to spread from my stomach through my body. It starts to numb my fingers by the time I acknowledge that it isn't the man who had followed me previously, no, not by a long shot. Because it was not a man.

"Who are you?"

"I'm sure my…_associate_ has informed you that we can't tell you that."

"Then what _can_ you tell me?"

"Simply that we are observing you. Take solace in the fact that it is simply observation, and not investigation." And she was gone. The word "yet" was left hanging, unspoken, in the air. It was burdening on me so heavily that, by the time I noticed people were approaching me, they were upon me already.

I really need to stop letting myself get snuck up on while thinking about weird, cryptic people stalking me!


	3. Chapter 3

A little known fact about humans is, a person interprets the taste of their own blood differently than that of another person's. Most take this as theory, but I have come to find that the taste of my own blood on my tongue is starkly different than what I taste now.

"My mouth was open." The shuffling of feet let me know that the person hovering over me, dripping on me, has given me space to move. I would wipe the drops of blood from my face, were it not for my hands being bound behind me. So, struggling through the impending burning that it will cause, I force my eyes open, for once missing my need for glasses, as they would have surely protected my eyes. That, or destroyed them due to breaking. Glass never did hold magic well. Made it entirely too brittle.

"How can I help you?" I don't like being snuck up on, and moreover, I don't particularly enjoy being clubbed in the back of the head. One positive to the altercation was the good shot in with my foot that I apparently landed as I fell. The blood staining the once simply dirtied tan of my boot evidenced that.

"Harry…"

"Don't, Ron. Don't. You have made your choices in this, and I have made mine, and I will be damned if you force me into any of this foolishness you people have found yourself in."

"You say 'you people' like you aren't one of us anymore! What has happened to you, Harry? The old you never would have sat by as people were killed!"

"The old me and the new me had a fight for dominance. This one won. This one lives."

"Are you saying the old one died?"

More observant than I expected from him. But my mental opinion of Ron will always be rooted in the person he was at Hogwarts. The person he is now is a new monster that I know little to nothing about, and honestly, don't care to learn of. "I've said it before, I will say it again, Ron, I will not subject myself to becoming part of this little war you idiots have found yourselves in. If you simply got off your asses and _left the island like I said to_, none of this would be happening. This is your faults, not mine."

"We can't just up and _leave_, Harry! This is our home!"

"Your home is gone, Ron. This is nothing but a shadow of what it once was, contorted and misshapen by the consequences of your choices."

"Cut the poetry, Harry, and talk to me. You're my best friend!"

"No, Ron. Magic is your best friend. Your love and your crutch. And you, just like the rest of these foolish sheep, have all begun a steady decline in your sanity upon the steady decline of it. And the hilarious part is, you aren't losing your magic. The world around you is, and you're finally forced to see it all for what it is, without the magic permeating from it."

My voice catches as I finish speaking this, the last sentences seeming to drop a weight onto my stomach that I struggle to acknowledge isn't real. Those words ring so familiar that it pains me. But even worse, remembering that the last time I spoke them was in a much gentler tone, devoid of such overwhelming spite.

"Stop with the unnecessarily big words, Harry, you're starting to sound like…" He trails off, and I know why he has. And I have the perfect opportunity to kick him while he's down. But I won't. Not because I wouldn't want to, but more because of the fact that if I do that, he won't take to heart what I am going to say otherwise.

"She's fine, Ron. But this isn't about her. She listened to me, she got out. You should try it too. It's better than the alternative. Being on either side of this shit."

"I can't, Harry. Ginny's stuck on bed rest and can't be moved, and I can't leave her."

"Can't, or won't?"

"Dammit Harry!"

"Either leave her to her own devices and get out, or wake up being drained of your blood, Ronald. You decide." And finally, one of us has said it straight, no dancing around it. "Get out of here; now, Ron. Or realize that sooner or later, someone more desperate than you will come gunning for your life's-blood. That, or you'll eventually succumb to your desperation and end up looking for someone else's. I don't interfere in this, Ron, but I will not watch an injustice before me and do nothing of it. If I see you becoming like them, Ron, then in memory of the friendship we once had, I will prevent you from tarnishing the memory of the man you once were.

"For the good of preserving who you once were, I will kill you, Ron."

"And I thank you for that, Harry, but I will not become like them. I _will not_ hunt people like animals, using their blood to power my wards, to heat my house, or increase my power."

"You say that now, but what happens when you, as a Defender, run into someone who has no such qualms with using it? When you have to watch him outclass you, will you accept continual defeat? Or will you be willing to shun morality for the sake of justice? Your department hasn't ever been shy about such actions being far from against operational policy. How long will you say no? I'll tell you how long a person can say no, Ron. Someone can say no right up until they say yes, out of either necessity or desire."

Blood. At the center of a crisis of dwindling magical power in the atmosphere surrounding the UK, somehow the least tied to ambient magic has become the cure, at least in a temporary sense. Many operate under the belief that blood stores magic. It has yet to be proven, nor will it ever be, but one thing is for sure, blood is a magical conduit. It retains magic well, and it will act as enough of a buffer from whatever necessity Hogwarts has to draw magic away, that a spell can last for a while before it needs more blood to feed from. It's become a warped form of magical battery.

In weakness and panic, leave it to humanity to show the ugliest possible side of itself.

"Will you take to drinking the blood of others, of your prone and disabled _sister_, for the edge you need to protect others from the same fate?" His turning away from me tells me all that I need to know. Wherever he has taken me, isn't somewhere I want to be, and it is obvious that I can't just beat him and leave, because he had to have backup.

The drip on my hands tells me something I suspected since I awoke, but was unsure of. Whoever hit me in the back of the head, did in fact break the skin. So my own blood has begun to fall on my bound hands, which works quite well for what I have to do. Thrusting my head back and stopping it abruptly showers my hands with sprinkles of my blood, just enough to cause the ropes to slip on my hands a slight bit. With some wiggling, they are loose. I am, for once, glad that Ron has long since been incapable of direct confrontation, as his embarrassment has kept him turned away from me.

I turn to take stock of my surrounding quickly, only to find a small jar filled with... "Ron, is that my blood?" His silence tells me everything. I reach out to grab it, and he turns and grabs me. "Let me go, Ron."

"No Harry. I can't do that. You have to understand, you were always powerful, your blood could power the wards on the hospital! At least the long-term care areas, and the treatment centers for the emergency arrivals!"

"No, Ron."

"Why Harry? It could help so many people!"

"No, Ron."

"God dammit Harry, it could _save lives_! You are not so selfish as to deny us protection that you yourself can provide, are you?"

"Release me, Ron." He releases my arm, and then grabbed it again as I took the jar of blood. "This, will help no one. You want blood to power those wards, Ron, then take from those who will be protected by them. They have no need for their magic, but I assure you, their bodies are filled with it. As is your own. But I promise you this. My blood, is not what you want for this. And my blood will not be used, by anyone but myself.

"Do not ask again."

"I wasn't asking, Harry."

"You aren't in a position to demand anything from me, Ron." And I walked from the room. He followed, I was sure of it, but it made no difference to me if he did, as I had my bearings.

"People will _die_, Harry! Don't be so foolhardy and selfish!"

"People are dying _now_, Ron. And no amount of wards will stop that. You want to make things better, get to the root problem. Figure out what is going on, and prevent people from needing to take blood, instead of simply chasing after them when they take it."

"Dammit Harry! You will help us!" He takes a wild grab for the jar in my hand, but I am able to maneuver away from him with ease, evading him until I was outside, the building exactly as I suspected.

"Goodbye, Ron. For the sake of our friendship, I will not hold this against you, but do not be so foolish as to operate under a notion that if you try this again, I will not strike you down where you stand, and leave the others with you to collect your blood for their own use." Tapping the Triple-W logo that was dusted over and weather-beaten beside the door, I head off. I leave a slight blood smear on the tin sign, and as I turn the corner, I look back to see what Ron does with such.

His attempts to remove the little bit of blood there, makes everything clear. The man that has been my friend has disappeared. He has been changed by the circumstance, and I am ashamed to admit, he has become just as the people he chases to bring to justice. But instead of the honesty of greed, he hides behind the mask of duty.

One friend dying, another one lost to obsession. One more to go. Off to the mainland.

* * *

The mainland smells funny.

I say that to say this: I never wanted to come back here. But here I find myself, leaving the airport, my nose protesting with the constant feeling of being on the verge of a sneeze. It's not a bad smell, per se, but it's foreign. The scent of many smells that have long since been lost on the island invading my nostrils, along with the annoying milling sound of way too many people around me eventually starts to get overwhelming.

So what do I do? I, of course, must make a stop at the gift shop!

An hour later, I find myself wandering out of the small shop with a bag full of my purchases, and I'm sure quite a few baffled faces. But if I have to be here, on this stifling patch of earth, I will be damned if I do not have something to show for it, beyond the obvious. Now…which way am I supposed to be going again?

This happens a lot. I have a lot of information stored in my head, and have a generally annoying time figuring out what I am looking for. I suspect this is how Hermione feels all the time, but for me, it's mostly just information I obtained while browsing through the Goblins' records. I'm looking for the actual location of the Greengrass Compound, and somewhere hidden in my brain, is what I seek.

Ah ha!

Her name was Jocelyn! I knew eventually I'd remember the name of that damned girl…side note, I've worked out where I'm headed, and hopping into a cab, that information is presented as quickly as I can communicate it through the language barrier. I never did find the need to learn Italian, and to be honest I'm probably happy about that given the insults I'm sure this driver is muttering my way in the language.

Hermione Granger has, for quite some time, lived on the Greengrass Compound. The word "compound" disturbs me, but I suppose in the scheme of things, it's probably the least cult-like compound in history. Last I heard, religion and all religious paraphernalia were banned from the premises, but that's neither here nor there. Hermione apparently spends her days holed up in the Greengrass Library. Or as I hear it's referred to, the Shrine to Learning. Yep, nothing at all cult-like about this place.

Four house-sized buildings, full of books. And beyond that, all the resources she could bother to get her hands on. And you would think, with all of this at her disposal, Hermione Granger would be ecstatic. You would be wrong. She, was spending her days, trying to fix a problem that has no solution. This, was made worse by the fact that the problem she was hoping to solve, was not what she was supposed to be doing.

The Greengrasses, apparently, brought her on board to work out what had occurred in Hogwarts. To figure out the cause of the Ambient Loss, and to weed out how to solve the problem. Hermione instead chose to focus her time and energy, researching _me._

A problem, without a solution.

Doesn't help that her subject of study avoided the mainland, and more specifically, any room she happened to be in, like the plague. What can I say, she smells funny.

Too long in Italy.

Too long around the Greengrasses.

Too long around books.

Too long around magic.

* * *

"Have a seat, Harry."

She looks nice. Tired, but much better than the last time I saw her. Her hair's been cut, probably just so that it won't get in the way of her researching, and she looks much livelier than anyone I've seen in quite some time. Likely the benefit of being surrounded by enough magic that daily aging and the odd fine line and wrinkle are wiped away easily. "Hey, Hermione. Long time no see. How goes the research on Hogwarts?"

"I'm not researching Hogwarts, Harry." I feign a look of shock, mainly because that was the obvious.

"Well, obviously, but I'm sure you have to keep up appearances for the Greengrasses, so I'm sure you've done _some_ research into the subject."

She looks uncomfortable, which makes me very nervous. Hermione has been many things, but she has never been one to bite her tongue or feel at all wrong about sharing what is in her mind. Put simply, the woman's always been so self-righteous that she can't _not_ share what she thinks. Which means what I'm about to here, it's going to sit well. "…About that."

"What 'about that', Hermione?"

"Harry, simply…I lied to you. I didn't want to, but it was what I had to do." Something about that line drew a parallel somewhere, and to someone, I wish it hadn't, and in spite of myself, it made me shiver. "The Greengrass Family didn't hire me to work out what happened at Hogwarts. They didn't hire me to figure out the Ambient Loss. They hired me to research _you_."

Nope. Don't fucking like this, not at all. "And why, pray tell, do they find me worthy of hiring you to research me?"

"Simply, Harry? You're an anomaly. And by anomaly, I mean that you're someone…"

"I know what an anomaly is, Hermione. I'm not a fucking moron. I am, however, going to run out of patience very soon if you don't tell me how it is that you can be hired by people I barely even know, to research me and you can't be bothered to inform me of it." She's flustered, but I'm running low on give-a-damn, because given the debacle with Ron, the idea that both of them have their own little designs on me is very disturbing.

"They want to know what makes you so special, Harry. The Greengrasses couldn't care less about Hogwarts, because the entire family is based out of this compound. They've apparently made more money since whatever happened at Hogwarts occurred, than they ever did before. But they can't wrap their heads around _you_."

"They, or _she_."

"It's the whole family, Harry, please don't start looking for problems." She's begun wringing her hands now, and I can tell that this conversation is not going to continue to get better. Which means I need to get out of here, because if she's wringing her hands, she's either at a loss for words, or stalling. And since Hermione Granger is very rarely at a loss for words…

"She's coming here, isn't she?" The look in her eyes tells me all I need to know, and that is, that I need to get out of here quickly. I can feel the wards around the place. Being in an environment starved of warding for so long makes the presence of the protective magic stand out like a neon cage surrounding a building. Getting up from her desk, I find myself suddenly aware that her door is locked. "Open the door, Hermione."

"I…I can't do that, Harry. She just needs to talk to you."

"And why the fuck should I speak with her, Hermione? What reason do I have to even be in the same room as her?"

"For me, Harry?"

"After this, why the fuck should I even speak to _you_, never mind do something for you? You've kept this from me, Hermione, and I know you. You've spent this whole time analyzing everything about me, picking it apart and breaking it down until you start to develop your little half-cocked hypotheses. And I'm sure they were standing right over your shoulder, observing it all. I am not a lab rat. I am not someone to study and analyze and make papers about!"

"Three of you went in there, Harry. You're the only one who came out. This isn't the first time that you've apparently made it out of an impossible situation, either. Escaping the impossible could be used as a summation of you entire _life_, Harry! This research could answer so many questions, or even save lives!"

"Or, Hermione, you could be examining your best friend to find a weakness that will eventually leave him dead in an alleyway. But what if I have no weakness? What if your time is being wasted? Maybe you should use it better. Maybe, just maybe, you should consider the fact that I don't want to be studied. I just want to live.

"I'm lucky as hell, Hermione. For a long time, that was good enough. But eventually 'better to be lucky than good' stops being adequate, because luck runs out. You've spent all this time studying me, while I've spent this time staying alive, and watching the world you left, fall apart around me. I'm not you people's savior. I do not hold in me all the answers to life's problems. Get off your asses and find solutions, instead of thinking if I hold still long enough, you can dissect an answer out of my spinal column."

Slow, patronizing applauding fills the room, and there's something stirring deep in my chest. The feel of it is overwhelming, like having a vacuum in my chest growing and shrinking rapidly. "Bravo. Inspiring speech, but the fact still remains, Potter, that you _are_ a lab rat. That's exactly what you are, something to be studied, and if so determined; dissected, alive if need be. Do you know why? Because _you_ are not more important than the entirety of Wizard-kind. And if we can find the answers to this inside of you, then it is only right of _us_ to ensure that we do that."

"Oh, take your faux-nobility and shove it up your ass, Greengrass. There are no answers to be found. Hogwarts has decided to take its payment for the generations of giving. The country is falling apart, magically, because there are too many xenophobic, magic-obsessed fools who can't accept change, but on the same note, can't force themselves to move away from their own destruction. That, isn't my fault. And I will not give my life to fix a problem that could just as easily be fixed by people getting the fuck on a plane. Or a boat. Or their kitchen table and paddling their way across the water."

Hermione has phased herself into the background, her eyes darting back and forth between the two people before her. One representing the memories of her past, the other the opportunities of her future. The fact that she actually _looks_ torn tells me that it's either been too long since I've seen her, or way too much has changed.

"I hear it's gotten quite bad there, Potter. Why haven't you taken your own advice and left the island for good?"

"Who says I haven't?"

"My people at the airport who watched you fly in." So not only am I being studied, I'm apparently being stalked…"I've known you were on your way here from the moment you purchased your ticket. I know what seat you were in. I know who you sat next to. I know what movie you watched on your flight."

"Noted. I haven't left, because I have no need to." An eyebrow is raised in question, and I figure I might as well humor the unasked question. Years of Hermione made me quite knowledgeable of the fact that leaving things unanswered never made them go away. "It doesn't affect me as much as it did everyone else. And before you start writing that down, it's not anything supernatural. Blame the Dursleys. I'm used to being in a low-magic environment. It isn't foreign to me."

"And what of those who would attack you for your blood? You aren't very low-profile, after all, given your living arrangements."

"Living arrangements? Where are you living Harry?" Hermione has finally interjected herself into this conversation, and for once, I wish she hadn't. I am quite prepared for what wheels this will start turning in her head, but I know my opponent, and if I do not answer, she will.

"I live in Gringotts, Hermione." Turning to the other woman in the room, her stance arrogant and relaxed, I know I have to leave this place.

"You want something to research, how's this. While you sit here reading books on me, people there are killing each other for blood with which to power wards, hide homes from attack, guard their valuables, cool their houses and _store their food_. The magically wounded, and the psychologically broken are harvested in their hospital beds for their "contribution" to the hospital's care. Ginny lays in her bed with a needle in her arm, her blood pumping out to shield the hospital from those who would come from outside to do the exact same thing.

"While you sit on your asses thinking about me, people are dying. _Tonks_ is _dying_, Hermione. Just last week, Seamus was arrested for harvesting. Harvesting _Dean_. Do you understand how fucked up all of this is?"

"Then fix it, Potter." It takes every bit of restraint in my body to not strangle the bitch where she stands, looking self-assured with that smirk on her face. As if saying I had the power to fix this all and refused. I'm unwilling to put my neck out for anything stupid, but I am not cruel.

"Go fuck yourself, Greengrass."

"Or you could do it for me."

"Gladly. If you have a knife I can borrow, I'll get started right now." Hermione flinches at that, and I have this feeling I may have gone too far, but I couldn't care less at this point. This is a place I don't want to be, with someone I don't want to be near, and if I spring myself from my confinement, I will simply give them more to study and therefore more reason to ignore the bigger problem. "Think about it, Hermione. You went to war for the House Elves. You struggled and fought for their freedom. Have you really now, become so desensitized to human life when surrounded all day by books, that you can't _feel_ anymore? Can't see that you have the intelligence to work out some idea of what is going on? That you can really change the world? And yet, here you sit, day in and day out, reading on _me_."

"Hermione is under contract, Potter. Meaning, as moving and inspiring as your speech is, she will not suddenly be rising up and deciding to pursue the research you wish her to follow. But, I think we can come to an agreement."

"What do you want from me?" I'm tired of this, exhaustion is gripping me and squeezing tighter by the moment. Being here for this long has already begun to weigh on me, and I'm starting to feel heavy and tired. I need to leave here, and whatever they did to this door, it won't be opening without use of force that I don't want to exert.

"You take her place. Not for too long. Hermione will be released to 'saving the world', as you like to make it appear. In exchange, you give us free reign to study you."

"Us?"

"Me."

"Fuck you."

"We've gone over this, I'm still waiting."

It's a trade. Her freedom, in exchange for mine. Really, I don't know if I care enough about England to make it worthwhile to give my freedom for them. But then, wouldn't I just be as bad as I accused Hermione of being, if I wasn't willing to give of myself to save them all? "Fine. But not here. We do this where I choose."

"For someone who has finally become free of the oppressive emptiness of England, you seem so intent to go back. Why?"

"Have you ever heard the parable of the cave walls? Basically, there are people sitting in a dark cave, and their game is to make out the faintest of shadows on the dark cave wall. One is given the chance to leave the cave, and see the outside, and the light. But upon returning to the cave, his eyes have lost their sensitivity to darkness, and he is now the worst of them at this game.

"That's a bastardized version of it, but the understanding is there. I've lived there, under this 'oppressive emptiness' for quite some time. Being here for an extended time will just end up with me being like you once you get there: so used to the presence of ambient magic, the lack of it is crippling." It's a snipe at her ability as a witch, it's a low blow and I'm glad I did it. She could have just as easily said no to my terms and I would have had to stay here, just to ensure Hermione retained her "freedom", but a dig like that wasn't about to be ignored.

"Fine."

"Good."

And with that said, I've finally had enough of the room, and with a gesture to the door, I wait for one of them to fix it. When no one makes any move, I figure I might as well just leave. With my new "companion" surely soon to be tracking my every move, I see no reason in hiding anything. So jabbing my wand at the door and projecting a _Protego_ at the door, I'm quite satisfied when it breaks through the oak and leaves a nice sized hole for me to climb out of.

If they were outraged at that, they'd be even more bothered by the fact that such a simple maneuver was fully capable of disrupting area wards around the room. Every single one of them was destroyed. Which was likely why the angry scream released from one Daphne Greengrass echoed across library, and her tirade of profanity was audible even down the hall as I made my way out of the compound.

Time to make some preparations.

You never battle an enemy on their terms, in their territory. You are instantly at a disadvantage, strategically. Intelligence wins wars, and it is very difficult to know everything about your surroundings when they are controlled by your opponent.

I walked foolishly into the Greengrass Compound, and lost the battle of words, I will admit. But the idiocy that was evident in Daphne Greengrass actually setting foot in Gringotts was appalling to me. Which is likely why she ended up finding herself cracking her eyes open to the slate of the interior of a vault, just moments before she emptied the contents of her stomach on a pile of Sickles and Galleons.

Her overconfidence was evident by how lightly she took the return to the UK. I watched her face change as the plane drew closer and closer to the island, draining of color slowly, and a look of consternation washing over her features. At one point, she even reached out to grab my hand from the arm rest, but I would not be affording her any comfort, and decided it would be a good time to cough into my hand before replacing it on the armrest. The fact that she still grabbed my hand was my first sign that she wouldn't make it for long.

The vault she was in was starved of the magic needed to power all of the ridiculous wards that covered it. And it decided that she was quite an ample source of that magic. She wasn't putting off nearly enough magic to make the vault harmful to her, but it was enough of a drain that she wouldn't be casting her way out of the vault. She would be feeling quite nauseous though, that was for damned sure. Magic _is_ one of the harder drugs to kick, if you will. The withdrawal of it was border-lining on being called a national epidemic during the days following Hogwarts. Or so I heard.

The poetic justice of my decision to trap her in a vault was in the fact that she was in her own family vault. All it would take was her feeding the wards enough magic to power up the recognition wards, and then she just had to ask to be let out. But she wouldn't know that, not if I had anything to say about that.

Tonks sat next to me in the expansive room that housed the vault Daphne was in, her face regaining color more and more as time passed. The room is reinforced to resist magic, mainly to prevent anyone from trying to break into the vault room magically. As such, it is the one room in the entire bank that will actually not hurt Tonks. It is the one room in the country where she won't get worse. She won't get any better, but as long as she stays in this room, she'll be in a form of…remission.

The moment she leaves the room, the bank will probably suck her dry, but she won't need to ever leave the room unless with me, I hope, so it's a moot point.

"Stay here." I stand from my seat on the desk and walk to the vault entrance, leaving Tonks seated there on her own, and open the door to the vault Daphne Greengrass currently inhabits. "Well well, how the mighty have fallen." She scowls at me, but does little else. "I warned you. But you insisted. So here we are. London, sweet London. How does it feel to be back, Daphne?" Her silence is music to my ears, but nonetheless, the question wasn't rhetorical. I tell her and such, and she looks at me with a blank expression before answering.

"It feels very cold."

"Really? Last person I spoke to said the drain on their magic just felt…wrong, not cold. Guess it's different for everyone."

"What do you feel?"

"I don't feel cold, that's for sure Daphne. I thought you knew that, given how much you like to allude to you knowing."

"How the hell am I supposed to know what you feel from the drain of magic?"

"You aren't, obviously." Crouching down so I am eye-level with her as she sits there on the floor looking quite confused, I can't help but smile. It's nice to see her finally looking disoriented and not so damned high-and-mighty. Though, I suspect a large part of that is the "cold" she says she is feeling, messing with her thought process. "You aren't supposed to know how I feel from the magic drain." Dramatic pause…wait for it… "You're supposed to know that I don't feel anything. I don't feel drained…Because I'm not."

"What!" Her reaction is endearing. I can tell it's likely been so long since she was surprised by anything that the stretch on her face to display her shock is probably causing her pain. Good.

"You see…I lied. Your answers _are_ in me, somewhere. Problem is, I don't know where they are, and I wouldn't tell you if I did. People are dying, and I intend to work out what's going on here. Not for this country. Not even for its people. But because I'm selfish."

"What do you mean?"

"I need to figure this out, because I need to know what was done to me. What _they_ _did to me_."

"I don't understand…" I can tell she's confused, because her bitchy tone has dropped off into an almost pleading, desperate one.

"You're not supposed to, dear Daphne. And even if you were, I wouldn't tell you, because, frankly, you've been way too much of a bitch lately for me to willingly give you any information. What I will do, however, is leave you locked in this vault until you've had some time to think. Just you, a mountain of money, and the cold drain of the stone making a constant withdrawal from your magic."

Turning to leave, I can't resist making one last jab at her. "By the way, Daph? If you ever see her again, you may want to consider having a nice long talk with Tracey. Though, by the time you're out of here, you might be calling her Mum."


	4. Chapter 4

I must say, since the Loss, the air feels cleaner somehow.

That sound, however, is new… ah ha, _Caterwauling Charm_.

Some people disgust me. A perimeter ward like that is little more than an alarm to warn of trespassers, a small precaution by definitions. But in order to keep it maintained, it means someone has to give up their blood for it.

"_Confringo!" _The bright color of the spell tells me whoever has decided to lay their attack on me isn't lacking for power. Which in this day and age means he's more than likely not just powering his wards with someone else's blood, but himself as well.

I dive to the side just to watch the door I had just kicked in be destroyed. The _Caterwauling Charm_ cuts off, and intermingled in the planks of wood and splinters, is blood and decimated human organs. What kind of sick fuck traps a living person in their door to power an intruder alert? "_Defodio!"_ Apparently the same kind of sick fuck who casts gouging spells at people.

The _Defodio_ spell actually has a physical presence, something few know. More precisely, something few people bother to be near enough to one to find out. "_Elpulso!"_ It takes very good aim, but hitting his spell with mine pushes it away from me. It doesn't return it to wherever he is, but enough that it finds the happy medium between us and sends it crashing there. "_Protego. Engorgio."_ The shield increases in height, not in power, but it decreases the magic needed to cast it. Whoever is firing their spells at me is obviously watching. Spells this size would immediately start a drain on whoever is casting them. If he isn't an idiot, he'll sit back and let me leave it up.

Four more sets, creating an enclosure around me entirely, must seem utterly stupid. My wand rotates quickly before firing an _Expulso_ at each shield around me, and each of them are blasted in a different direction. Running low to the ground back from the door, I find a table to overturn and crouch behind, as several spells impact the table with varying results.

Even though it makes me sick, I have to fix the door. The light from the night coming in illuminates me, and prevents me from hiding in the dark like the coward I fight. "_Reparo"_ fixes the door, but isn't able to repair the destroyed body that had been inside of it, leaving bits and pieces of the body intermingled with the wood. It looks like some sick post-modern display of visceral art.

"_Meteolojinx Recanto"_ Further corrects this slight, as the unnatural darkness fades away, leaving me able to see the room for the first time. It's a large sitting area, that is perfectly square with three staircases going up from the exact middle of every wall besides the one with the door on it. Strategically, it holds a lot of advantages for my opponent, sniping perches everywhere. But I have to smile to myself, because my shields had taken their banishing perfectly, and sat perfectly innocuous in each corner of the room.

"_Tergeo"_ _"Expulso!"_ "_Sonorus!" _Racking my memory, I remember the incantation for the _Caterwauling charm_ that my opponent had apparently enjoyed employing just in time to send it following. Each staircase got the same treatment, the bottom step hit with that combination of spells casts on some of the blood magically sopped up from the bleeding door.

"_Avis."_ A flock of small birds circle around me, before "_Oppugno"_ sends all of them on a mission up the middle staircase. I cast _Avis_ and _Oppugno_ again, and leave the birds orbiting around me, their purpose would hopefully not have to be seen. Watching closely, the birds all turned left, which meant the far right staircase wasn't where he was. No birds appeared past the other staircase, which meant he wasn't on the far left either, but between the left and middle. Ordering one of the birds orbiting me, I send it up the left staircase on the same mission, and just as it went to turn the corner, I say fuck it and _Fiendfyre_ the poor thing.

And just as I suspected, rocketing down the middle staircase, came just who I was looking for. My _Glisseo_ hit the staircase and right after I cast _Muffliato_ toward the shields on either side of the middle staircase. He crosses the blood-line just as the Muffling spells impacted each other, effectively sealing off my side of the room. They wouldn't stay up long, but long enough for the _Sonorus-_Powered Caterwauling charm to ruin his eardrums. While his eyes were closed from pain, I run to each corner of the room, casting _Geminio_ on myself before each shield in each corner of the room. A _Disillusionment_ _Charm_ and I've disappeared from view and have set up the perfect torture. I don't have long, given the Fiendfyre raging up the stairs, but long enough to do what I need to.

The spells wear off on him, and he stands to find four of me standing about. His immediate reaction, in spite of ruined hearing, was to begin cursing. Bad move, given the fact that the spell passed right through the copy of me, hit the shield and returned to him.

Two minutes later, he had sufficiently crippled himself. The real question here is, would he leave his inevitable doom, or continue trying to attack me?

The house burned down, and Draco Malfoy, in all his rage and lust for revenge, died inside of it. Nothing guarded the door. No one stopped him from leaving the house. He was free to flee and save his own life. He chose not to.

Idiots like that, don't deserve to live.

So now, he no longer does.

I had no real reason to do this, it didn't give me any answers, and had I left him alive, I probably could have gotten something from him, though it would have been like pulling teeth. Realistically, it probably _would_ have taken pulling his teeth out, with my bare hands, but it could have been _something_.

But sometimes your plans have to change in an instant.

And the fact that he had a living person trapped in his door, powering an alarm, was cause enough for a reevaluation of my plan.

Oh well, back to square one again. Time to go make my report.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson.

The gray tint to her skin, her hair cut short, and her sunken-in cheeks belied the nobility she attempted to portray with her upturned nose and imperial attitude.

It's hard to be a stuck-up bitch when confined to a hospital bed.

There's a lot about Pansy Parkinson people don't know.

There are only a handful of things about Pansy Parkinson I don't know.

Her favorite color is, apparently, the color of pure mercury. A liquid silver intermingled with black. Her eyes, incidentally, are this exact color. She is as narcissistic as possible. She loves herself above all other things.

Another little known fact about Pansy Parkinson: her second love (after herself) is actually dancing. Her mother took her to ballet classes as a small girl up until she received her Hogwarts letter. She went away to become the girl I knew, just to come back from school to find the teacher clueless to who she was. Pansy had never forgiven her mother for removing all of her teacher's memories the week after she left for school.

You learn a lot about a girl when you spend the better part of a few years taking care of her.

Like her heartbreak at her broken spine.

And the many ways that heartbreak manifests.

She still has the tendency to throw things at me whenever I wander in, but it doesn't bother me nearly as much as I let on. It's amusing to hear her then politely (for Pansy) ask for them back...only to sniff and comment on how my place is bowing before her as I pick her things up.

She was the reason I regained a lot of my hand-eye coordination, catching the things she threw to prevent her joy at my kneeling in front of her.

She was the reason I went to investigate (and later kill) Malfoy in the first place. She asked me to locate the little cretin's whereabouts for the express purpose of _not_doing exactly what I did. As the reason for her being handicapped, plotting Malfoy's murder at her hands became her obsession - an obsession that was a complete change from the sycophantic, hanger-on girlfriend I knew her as. I'm sure the time spent not throwing shit at me was spent planning the perfect revenge...but I suppose I killed those off as well.

Oops?

Something about her eyes tells me she knows. It could have been the unapologetic look on my face. Or maybe it was the fact that she could smell the smoke on me the second I entered. I could have just as easily removed the scent, but if there's something I can't validate taking away from Pansy anymore, it's her ability to figure things out for herself. She spends all of her time, trapped in a room confined to a bed, unable to mock, and impede, my attempts to decipher my past in real time. The least I can do for her is let her feel smarter than me.

"Potter…"

"Don't start. The little shit had it coming."

"How do you screw something like that up? It was surveillance! You shouldn't even have been seen by him, nonetheless have to kill him!"

"Pans…"

"Don't 'Pans' me, cretin!" Ah…so that's where I got that word from! "Of all the things for you to fuck up! I mean seriously…How could you-"

"He had someone trapped in his front door, powering his goddamned alarm ward, Pansy."

The silence was instant, absolute, as the weight of how low Malofy had stooped hit her - hit the both of us, really. A human being was kept trapped in a hollowed-out, wooden door, so scum like Draco-Fucking-Malfoy could sleep a bit more soundly as he hid from his retribution.

The silence lasted for a beat, then -

"Did you get him, Harry? Tell me you got him." The way she asked made me sure anything less than the most unspeakable agony would be unacceptable.

"He got himself, Pansy. If there was one thing you'll appreciate about me deviating from the plan, it's the irony of his demise." Explaining the situation brought a light to her eyes that I wasn't sure I'd ever see. And I was glad for it.

"So at the end of it all, his own need to harm others, and his hatred for me, blinded him to his own survival. But I'm sorry he was even in the situation, to disallow you to exact your devious little revenge that that evil head of yours likely plans out daily." She grins at me gently. It's sardonic, but there's something deeper hidden away in there.

I've long since abandoned any hopes of interpreting the more complex looks she tosses at me. Not because I'm some idiot who couldn't work out what it all meant, but simply because it wasn't worth it. Pansy would always be Pansy, and the look she gave me one day may disappear, never to be seen again, within moments.

"Thank you, Harry. As much as I wanted to destroy him for what he did to me…there's something…amazing about what you did, regardless." She's quiet and her eyes are cast down at her hands, and the whole byplay is very unlike her. "Something amazing about everything you've done."

"Don't mention it. It's the least I could do, at the end of the day." The anger in her eyes was instant and frighteningly clear.

"What the hell do you mean, 'the least I could do', Potter? This is my life we're talking about, I will be damned if you write off the fact that you have been taking care of me for the last who-the-fuck-knows-how-long, as routine!" She composes herself quickly, but I can tell she wants to say more. I bite back the witty comeback that burns the tip of my tongue, in hopes that she might continue.

"When you found me, I was crawling on the floor like an animal with my lame legs dragging behind me. I couldn't even get up the stairs in front of me before I was gasping for air, and I thought I would _crawl_ away from an Auror raid? The girlfriend of someone you _hated_ in school, was crawling pitifully at your feet, to escape the fate she made for herself," she paused to breathe deeply, and I couldn't help but be glad for her head being down. I too remembered that night vividly, often. "And you decided somewhere in that screwed up head of yours, to lift me up in those dirty, grimy, blood-stained arms of yours, and carry me off."

"Hey now…I had to fight my way into that damned building, thank you very much. And I'd like to remind you, not only did you personally cause some of those cuts on my arms, but you weren't exactly Irish-Spring-fresh your damned self, Parkinson."

"Exactly. And…here we are, years later, and you're taking care of me as if I was an ill family member, or as if I was some long-time friend who was dying. And I'm none of those! If it had been you crawling at my feet, I would have sent a cutting curse to the back of your neck, after grinding my heel into your face."

"Then lucky both of us that it wasn't you?" I laughed in spite of myself, and reached over for the box of tissue that sat on a table near me. Throwing it toward her, the little cardboard box pegged her in the side of her head, and dropped down onto her hands. Her head immediately whipped up, and I could make out the sparkle of her tears, shaken from her face in her haste to glare at me.

"He's dead now. And probably for the best. I have way too much going on to have to wonder if he's crafted some plot that I might stumble into while worrying about everything else in the world. Literally."

I filled her in on everything that was going on, and she dutifully issues the rightful (though late) warnings about Daphne Greengrass. She laughed heartily over the information about Tracey Davis, and it was good to see her in a more spirited mood. Which, for Pansy, meant she was back to insulting any and everyone I mentioned by name.

Good to have her back.

We spoke for a bit longer, before I got up to leave. As usual, I made a special point to ruffle her hair, which she hates. Turning away from her, I placed a small radio on the bed near her feet. Walking back out, I pulled the door to and slid down the wall next to it.

Visits to Pansy were always somewhat taxing. They were draining, and revitalizing, at the same time. I did everything I could for her, not out of some feeling of obligation or pity, but because it was what I did. I ate. I drank. I fought. Occasionally, I smoked. And I took care of Pansy Parkinson.

The static of her trying to find a good station on the radio was audible from outside of the door, and the fragments of conversations from the dial moving through stations was actually worse than the feedback.

It was my personal radio, but she didn't need to know that. I could do without it, and if need be, I could just take another. Hearing the static stop as she left the radio on a station playing classical music was worth it. If nothing more than to hear the girl who was once the _de facto_ Queen of Slytherin, humming along to Mozart.

Peeking through the door, I watched as she crawled her way to the edge of the large bed carefully, and eased her foot down onto the floor. She balanced gently as she held her body up with one leg, and spread the other out behind her.

Pansy had been able to walk for over a year. But she knew in her mind, that if she could walk, then she should have been getting her revenge on Draco Malfoy. And although I'd been able to get her walking, and get her back functional physically, some wounds don't heal so easily.

And some don't heal at all.

Pansy Parkinson danced around her room to classical music, her mercury-colored eyes alight.. The knowledge that the man who wronged her was no longer out there made her seem so much lighter. The need for revenge no longer keeping her grounded.

It would have been cute, if she didn't keep spinning herself and knocking all my shit over.


	5. Chapter 5

I've found myself developing an increasing dislike for Daphne Greengrass' face. Every time I wander into the vault, be it to make a few jogging laps around the inside, or just to sit on a pile of coins and skip them across the expansive vault, she feels the need to look at me. Its growing quite tiresome, I must admit. I mean sure; at the beginning, those hazel eyes and the smoldering gaze would bring such an intense joy to me. The resentment she had etched into the very pores of her face brought with it a certain power. The thought that; with all of her haughtiness, I was possibly the first person to ever inspire such a look, was intoxicating. And then it just got old.

"Stop looking at me."

"Why should I, you bastard?"

"Because I said so?" How does she not realize that's the reason why she should do what I say? It's not like she has any other hope of getting out of here besides me. But of course she doesn't. So there she sits, continuing to stare blankly at me. I really don't like her face. "Look, Daph, you're not going anywhere for a while. It would be a lot easier on the both of us if you just did what I said. You're at my mercy while you're in here, and so far I've been very nice. I gave you a bathtub. A bathtub made of _gold!_ How nice am I?" I'm pleased with myself, I have been a very nice person, and its time she appreciates me.

"I'm being held prisoner in a vault in an abandoned bank. I'm surrounded by money, when all I want is information. I have an idiot for a captor. An idiot who made me a solid gold bathtub, and has no intention of ever providing me with water to bathe in it!"

She's got me there. I really have no desire to leave her to bathe in there. "Can't you just hurry up and develop Stockholm Syndrome already? All this waiting around is making me antsy."

She has this condescending look on her face. Like the idea of her falling for me, her "idiot captor", is beyond blasphemy. I have the sudden urge to lob a handful of galleons at her face, and I have to physically restrain myself from doing so. "That's not going to happen, Potter. I prefer my men to have the mental capacity of at _least_ an ape, if not an actual human. You're still swimming around in the sea, looking to grow legs."

"And I prefer my women to…um…Fuck off, Greengrass." She smiles smugly, and I can't help being less than bothered by that. Admittedly, I had several rebuttals I could have made to that, but I instead chose to concede it, simply because it allowed me to observe.

The vault was taking more out of her than I thought it would. Her skin was pasty looking, her hair matted and her eyes looked sallow. For the most part, she had lost every ounce of that cool-and-collected aura she held back on the mainland, and it was precisely what I had been waiting for. Well, that and the point where the vault became hot enough that she elected to remove her shirt. The latter still has yet to come, and I'm fairly aware that it never will now that my humanity has chosen to reappear.

"I'm letting you out of the vault, Greengrass." She sputters for a moment, and then affixes me with a look that clearly says that if I am teasing her, there will be hell to pay. Lucky for me, not only am I being truthful, but I also have absolutely no fear of her anywhere in my body. "You're about as ready as you'll be."

"Wait…what?"

"Call this a magical decompression chamber. You have been on the outside for years now. Your body was not at _all_ suited for this place. If you walked around out there as you were for too long, your body would go into immediate magical withdrawal, and you'd be lucky if you made it a day before your body started showing the signs. Before we had to revert to truly drastic measures just to keep your magical shock from shutting your body down." The shock etched on her face is quite cute. Or would be if there wasn't a tint of horror meshed tightly over her hazel eyes.

"Yes, Daphne, I didn't lock you in here because I'm a heartless asshole. I saved your life. You took coming here so lightly, but it's not something to walk into unprepared. It would be like living your entire life below sea level, and suddenly having to run a marathon atop Mount Everest. Your body wouldn't be able to cope. This vault acted like an…introduction back to the island. Your time in this vault, is about equal to what you'll feel when you get out of here. But if I'd let you wander around, reeking of the mainland and its magic like you would have wanted on your first day here, the very _air _would have tried to suck the life from you. It would have been many, _many _times worse." Her gasp was quiet, but it echoed. "Welcome fucking home, Daphne."

Some part of me wants to believe, the magnitude of the world she fled from, has finally clicked to her. As she stands up at my motion, she stops and looks at me. There's an apology, buried just beneath the surface, but her pride keeps it just hidden away. But I can make it out, and that's all that matters, I suspect. I don't feel the need to degrade her by making the words leave her mouth. A simple nod will suffice in letting her know I know.

As she turns away, she speaks. "What did you mean by drastic measures?" Her mind is quick. I'm sure she's realized that whatever I would have had to sink to, to save her life in an emergency, the more desperate would have taken to doing long ago to take the edge off.

"You don't want to know."

She answers quickly, the words barely leaving my lips before hers meet my ears. "You're right, I don't. But I need to."

I can't begrudge her this. I know how terrible it is to go into a situation without all the facts. I'd just been in that position when I took my trip and picked up a tag-along. "You didn't come back to follow your lab rat home, Daphne. This is a battlefield. One littered with the dead and the wounded. And scattered throughout are the living, who must; every day, decide whether they've reached the point where they must scavenge off of the dead and dying to stay alive for a day longer. If that one day of doing something despicable could mean help arrives and they survive.

"But people seem to be forgetting that such actions will likely lead to them spending the rest of that long life, regretting that one day." The fact that I know from experience is telling by the bitter tone I can't quite bite back from saying that. She turns to look at me out of the side of her eye, her profile displayed for just a moment before she looks away again. She's seeing what I mean, but she's not feeling it yet. Which means I need to be a bit blunter with what I mean. "People have taken to harvesting other humans. I've told you about the use of blood to power ward schemes and the like. But it's also being used like…magical adrenaline. Medically, it can save a life. Ingesting can do quite a bit for recovering from ill side effects of magical depletion." I can _feel_ her disgust, but I know it will just get worse. "Some of the worst cases require much…quicker solutions. Which is, of course, becoming very popular among the…less moral of our little society of chaos we have here. Guaranteed power boost, anytime, anywhere."

"Have you ever…" I don't take it personally, because they don't know me. They've spent so long researching me, but not looking at who I am. To them I'm an anomaly, but still an anomaly who lives here. How different could I be?

"No, I don't particularly fancy the thought of hard-lining someone else's blood, for the benefit of making one of my spells just a bit brighter in color, or being able to blast one of my pursuers just a bit further."

"I have to admit that if I was in your position, as sick as it sounds, I probably would." She turns to look at me fully as she says this, and I can tell that she's ready to have a conversation now. And of all the ones to have, it's a moral one. Morality…something neither of us likely have any right to debate. And to think, it's what will finally lead to open communication between us. "There have to be so many people out there after you, there must be. And for all you know, that extra boost in power could mean the difference between dying and living."

"I am forced to defend myself almost every time I step out of those doors, Daphne. Always someone out for their next fix, looking for the most powerful person they can find to steal from. And I represent a huge target, and I know that. But I already kill to live. At what point can I maintain a moral high ground if, everything they do to kill me, I do right back to stay alive? Every bad they put out, I put out as well in an attempt to counterbalance it, just to be making it worse? I need the separation, so I can continue looking down my nose at them all.

"Besides, the way I've learned to fight, the power boost isn't really needed. It's all well and good to have a nice, strong Cutting Curse to fire. But how much does the size of it matter if I'm capable of severing the jugular, while moving, with a Cutter the size of a razorblade? The most powerful people I fight against, also tend to make the biggest mistakes. The feeling of power is something I have tried to avoid for years now. Because feeling yourself strong, makes you feel the need to act it." I'm starting to get long-winded, and it's time to wrap this up as succinctly as I can for her.

"It's a drug, Daphne. Every drug comes with a price. I'm not going to sacrifice my humanity for power. And I'm sure in the hell not going to allow myself to become so convinced of my own strength that I end up defeating myself.

"Now…would you like to get out of here and get yourself a bath and some clean clothes?"

She holds back a smile, just barely, and heads to the door with no preamble. I guess she really wants to get out of here. For the best, before I end up saying too much. She's very easy to talk to, but there are lines I can't cross. One of them is explaining the actual reason why I have no intention of ever injecting the blood of another human into myself.

Some things, once said, just can't be taken back.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson has named a spell after me.

"You burrowed into my life, and when I pulled away from you, I just found out it was too late and you had become a part of me."

"That's really sappy, Parkinson. Do you have a fever or something?" I walked over to check her temperature, and she slapped my hand away with a scowl on her face. Or at least, that was the first thing she did, before pulling me down to sit on the bed next to her. She'd decided that she had the need to be back in her bed again, and I am really starting to believe she does it for appearances when I am around.

"I made this because of you, and _for_ you, Potter." She looks up into my eyes, and there's some kind of truth in her eyes that makes me decide against writing off her little tinkering in magic. "It's a counter to a shield."

"There are plenty of spells that go through shields, Pans, but they either require too much power, or simply aren't worth it to cast."

"Shut up. This one is different. It doesn't go _through_ the shield, Potter, it becomes part of it."

"…What?" Nothing about what she was telling me matched with my understanding of spells, and to further the effort of preventing Harry Potter from making a fool of Harry Potter, I deemed it time to shut up.

"Shields die quickly since the whole Hogwarts thing, right?" It was rhetorical, but I nod in spite of that. "Well, someone who uses a shield to defend can do one of two things. They can dispel the shield and allow the air to sap the magic from the shield and dissipate it. Or they can take the connection to the shield from their magic, and pull what magic it has left in it, back into themselves. Now, obviously the latter sounds like the better solution in the case of an extended fight. But that's what _The Harry Potter_ banks on."

"What do I bank on, Pans?" She rolls her eyes, but it was an easy joke to make, one I'm fairly sure I will be making entirely too much for my own good in the coming times, assuming she feels the need to teach me this spell.

"As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, _ahem_…What was I saying…" She glares at me before catching her train of thought at the next station, if you will. "Oh, yes. So, the spell banks on the shield's caster pulling the magic back in. It burrows into the shield, and stays there. The spell itself is simply the burrower. When the shield's caster pulls the magic back in, the spell within the burrower follows. The theory states many spells could be put into the burrower, but the only one I've been able to add in is the Stunner.

"Not bad, but not perfect. The only real weakness beyond the target's natural resistance to whatever spell you place in _The Harry Potter_, would be if the caster just dropped the shield instead of taking it back in. Then, it does nothing outside of waste the magic you spent casting it."

The implications of this are endless. If you really could place other spells into my magical namesake, then dispatching the shield-dependant people who attack me could become a lazy afternoon exercise instead a bad relapse of The Department of Mysteries, daily.

She teaches me the spell, and I take some measure of pride in hearing her tell me how to properly use "her _Harry Potter"_ with proper effectiveness. The blush that crawls along her cheeks, down her jaw and along her neck as I point out how comfortable she sounds being possessive of me, looks eerie on her pale skin. It's not attractive at all.

She looks like she has a rash.

I realize as I stand to move away from the bed, that I apparently have come to like Pansy when she is in control of our banter. The times I catch her off guard, or the times I maintain the upper hand, I always find her less attractive. Frazzled, off-balance Pansy can't possibly hold a candle to haughty, holier-than-thou Pansy.

Note to self, never embarrass, or win a back-and-forth with Pansy again.

"Thank you, Pans. This could very well save my life. Or at the bare minimum, speed up my transit time."

"Transit time?"

"Yeah. Every time I leave home to come here, I end up in at least one fight." Her right eyebrow raises at this, and it's the Pansy Parkinson Seal of Interest, as it were. It was her way of showing her "regal approval" of you carrying on with your story. I hate her right eyebrow. I've considered shaving it off as she slept, once. "Not to sound overdramatic, but let's just say it's a fight for my life any time I come over here. So the least you could do is show some enthusiasm when I walk in the door. Maybe even some tickertape. At least a round of applause."

She regarded me with her head cocked to the side, and I felt this urge to brush the hair that fell in her eyes out of her face. As soon as I did that, I knew it was a terrible idea. "Get your teeth off of my hand, Parkinson!" She shook her head, which felt very unfortunate given her oral grasp on my fingers.

That sounded a lot more perverted than the situation was. Especially since it hurt, with her sharp little teeth gnawing at my skin.


	6. Chapter 6

Here's a funny story.

Once upon a time, William Weasley took his fiancée's little sister into his worksite, where he was breaking the anti-theft wards on an old pagan catacomb.

Then, suddenly, Hogwarts decided to send out an island-wide repo team, as it were.

And a weird thing happened. The large stones that sat overhead, decided to choose that time to fall through the ground into the caverns William Weasley was working in. And one of them landed, at least partially, on his soon-to-be sister-in-law.

This is where I laugh uproariously. Though, admittedly, I'm not sure why it's a funny story. Fleur Delacour sure didn't find it the least bit comedic.

For that matter, neither did her father.

William Weasley found it funny the least, considering he had made a magical oath that no harm would befall the young girl, and found himself staring in shock as his vow was broken before his very eyes.

Gabrielle Delacour almost died that day, trapped under one of the most famous stones in all of the world. However, luckily for her, Death-by-Stonehenge was not in her future, and she was able to be saved.

But all was not well that day. William Weasley had broken his vow, and young Gabrielle was clinging to life with all the strength her young, thin, frail and fragile fingers could muster. She was able to take a portkey back to her native France to receive treatment in her home country. Her sister followed the same day, incidentally taking one of the last fully operational portkeys to exist in England.

Her handprint had remained, bright red, on the side of William Weasley's face for the better part of two hours. It had just started to fade as he came out of shock.

It would be a great many hours, bordering on several years, before the complete shock wore off of him. In one fell swoop, he lost a great deal.

The cave-in destroyed his wand.

The anti-theft wards triggered in a final burst before dissipating. The stone that destroyed his wand also shielded him from the brunt of the magical fire, but the heat singed most of his eyebrows off, and the embers burned away hair and follicles.

The girl he was left in charge of was _gravely_ wounded.

The wounded girl's very protective older sister reacted with deep animosity to his failings as a protector, and left him.

And in his failing to protect the girl, William Weasley lost his magic.

It is my humble estimation that William Weasley is currently the luckiest living member of the Weasley family. And possibly a great deal luckier than those that make up the magical community he was once a part of.

I know I would kill for his luck.

* * *

"Harry, old chap! How's life working out for you!" His joviality disgusts me sometimes. For someone who had such a bad series of events befall him, he's entirely too happy. The smile on the side of his face that was most badly burned is stretched, the skin never quite regaining its elasticity. His hair is low to his head, a buzz cut of sorts, and the shimmering of the skin was the only evidence of the burn. His eyebrows never grew back, but it somehow works for him. I suppose it's the way he carries it.

Easy to be jovial and joyful, all things considered, when your home isn't eating you alive, I guess.

"Life is life, I do suppose, William."

"Bill, Harry, I'm still Bill! I swear I tell you that every time you come by here. How long's it been? Quite a few months, if memory serves."

"In or about that…Bill." His happiness grates on a part of me. I'm too used to being around the cynicism. I find myself disgusted with optimism now. It's like menthol. In small doses, its healthy and somewhat helpful. But in excess, its more harm than good.

"So, still taking up with the Parkinson girl, Harry?" He waggles the space that once held his eyebrows, and I suppose it would be effective had he still had any.

"I'm still taking _care_ of Pansy, yes." I stress the care, because the lecherous grin he has taken to giving me has me feeling the sudden urge to re-grow his eyebrows for him, so I can pull them out, hair by hair. "But that's not why I came here. I am afraid, as…_fun_…as talking about the women around me would be, this isn't about them. This is about your family." His face clears right up at that statement, and I have to pat myself on the back, mentally of course, for my wonderful timing. His full attention is set on what I have to say, the trap has been set. And now…"Ginny's getting worse, and while I know you can't see her, it's possible I might be able to arrange transport for her to come here, just for a short time. Would that be agreeable with you?"

He nods his head while swallowing audibly, and I'm completely reassured that I have him where I need him. If there is one member of his family that Bill still cares for, it's Ginny. His falling out with his brothers stemmed entirely from her. Bill's loss of magic prevented him from going to St. Mungo's to see his ailing and injured little sister. And his brothers had no intention whatsoever of bringing the girl to see her favorite older brother. Leaving him heartbroken and even more removed from the world he had once thrived in that he had been before.

That had been years ago.

And in I walk into his home, with the revelation that I could and would do, what his brothers denied him for years. I'm quite pleased with myself.

Now if only the whole thing didn't have the unfortunate circumstance of being a trap, I'm sure he'd be even more pleased with me. But lucky me, he'll never know it's a trap, either way it plays out. I do believe that is Check and Mate.

And they said I was bad at chess, ha!

* * *

The impact of a single event still shocks me to this day. It's like seeing the chaos theory in practice. Only; instead of a butterfly's wings causing a hurricane in another time and place, it's the actions of three people causing so much more suffering in the here and now.

I wake up every morning and stare blankly into the large mirror inside my room, and am disgusted by what I see. I look amazing. My skin is clear. My hair is a disaster area, but it looks healthy. My eyes are bright. For someone who turned the United Kingdom into a magical version of the Ukraine, post-Chernobyl, I look entirely too healthy. At least compared to the other two people responsible, I suppose.

Something most people don't know is, the magic that powers the Hogwarts Express is actually tied directly to the Headmaster of the school. Many people have this belief that Dumbledore's short addresses before each term were simply a facet of the notorious eccentricity of the old man. Those people had a very shocking wake-up call the night Hogwarts…Whatever the hell happened there. The train's braking system failed just as the platform was on the horizon, and derailed fully just in time to allow the front car to careen onto the platform itself and kill a number of people on impact.

Ginevra Weasley, was not one of those people. For, you see, she had been running between cars, casting Cushioning Charms to try and save the younger children from the impending impact. One of those charms was the reason she didn't die outright from the impact that powdered her lower spine, splintered her pelvic bone through her skin, and crushed her uterus.

In one fell swoop, Hogwarts prevented the first Weasley female from reproducing forever.

On one hand, it's a terrible thing. On the other, given the…fertility of Molly Weasley, it could have very well been a good thing. But I fully suspect me thinking that has a lot to do with my utter disdain for the continued existence of Ginny Weasley. The fact that she still breathes acts as a daily insult to me.

* * *

"If you don't stop squirming in the bag, so help me I will kick it down the road with you in it!" She immediately stopped her stupid arm-flailing in the large burlap sack I'd placed her in, and I'm glad for it.

The Ginny Weasley from Hogwarts had wasted away a great deal, all things considered. Her bedridden state seemed to have left her in a deep depression that didn't lead to her eating much, which I was currently very happy for. No one wants to carry someone who's turned into a completely fat pig from being bedridden. Especially in a burlap sack, as they flail around trying to be dropped.

I don't think Ginny would be particularly happy if I dropped the sack she was contained in considering I have the sack hefted up Santa-style and her head is pointed toward the ground. Also I don't think hostages are nearly as effective if they are heavily injured or dead. Makes getting one's ransom nigh impossible.

Although admittedly, I don't care as much about getting the ransom that I'm after. I care a lot more about getting the people who I will demand it from, where I want them to be.

I said it a while ago. Never go to unfamiliar territory when seeking something. Hold onto a tactical advantage with an iron grip and release it for nothing short of assured victory. But keep in mind, no victory is assured until it has been achieved.

So here I stand on a dim dawn, tapping the street sign that read "Wisteria Walk" with the tip of my bloodstained tan boot. It was more of a murky hazel than tan by now, and they'd seen better days. But sometimes, familiarity can do worlds more for one's state of mind than increased comfort or style. I suppose the same could be said for what I hold in my other hand.

At one point, it had been the top of the line in Wizarding Racing Brooms. The fastest, the most agile, the sleekest and the most expensive piece of craftsmanship and magic to ever go from sweeping a front stoop to soaring the clouds. These days, most of its ilk are back to sweeping those same stoops. But this particular broom is special. Since I broke off the bristles, it has revealed a plethora of uses.

Sometimes I use it as a walking stick.

Some days it's a cane.

On some occasions, a full-out crutch.

Often, I'll push things away with it.

A few times, I've pulled things to me with it.

Once in a while, I poke stuff with it.

Every so often, it's a make-shift lever.

Once, it even operated as a doorjamb.

Today, however, it has reached new levels of usefulness. In other words; in what will hopefully only be a few short moments, I will be using it to try and beat the dust out of the sack I carry. The fact that there will be a redhead contained within is immaterial to my excitement at adding another use to this marvelous piece of wood that was once a flying device.

They say when a door closes, a window opens. When this thing stopped being able to fly, it was almost like every window opened and little ladders dropped down from them to allow easy access. When it stopped flying, my Firebolt became the Swiss Army Knife of pieces of wood.

"Hey Ginny, you alive back there?" She makes a muffled sound to the affirmative, and I slap the side of the sack with my Stick. "No talking!" My torment of the girl is leaning heavily to the unfair side, but I am pleased to note that it has avoided falling fully into that realm, due to it being supported by said Stick. Another use for it! Preventing me from believing myself unnecessarily cruel to Ginny Weasley!

* * *

I've found myself growing increasingly detached from the reality of the dull Surrey street as the time drags slowly on. And when I start to become increasingly bored with the company I keep within my own mind, I start to reminisce. And worse, I start to wander through my memories, to how I found myself in this situation.

Luna Lovegood was an odd girl, I knew that the day I met her. Her hair was long and like straw, and her eyes were easily the largest I'd ever seen. But that was something I learned about Luna, it was all the better to see things with. And did she ever see things. Luna Lovegood saw many things that the rest of the world deemed insane or in her own imagination. But I've always found that the basis for what reality is, is what someone believes it to be. And if Luna wanted to believe there were Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, well damn it all, there were.

The day before the train left Hogwarts for the last time, I'd had a talk with Luna. Luna was not a "seeress" or anything of the sort. In fact, she was diametrically opposed to anything concerning Divination, more so than even Hermione. But there was something in the abstract nature of the girl that allowed one to connect their own addled thoughts through her. It was like she was a conduit, or better yet, an insane-to-sane translator.

She was the reason I charged into the castle.

Her simple nature allowed me to piece together the facts. To realize that - when it came to the final act - my "character"; as it were, had pivotal lines to speak and a place on that stage until the final bow. It would be unbefitting of such an integral plot character to be missing at his greatest moment, after all. And that was just how she said it, before asking me to lean down. I did, and she gazed so intently and fiercely into my eyes. It seemed like forever, and for but a moment.

When asked why she did it, Luna simply replied, "I wanted to see if I could see what goes on in your head. All I saw was green. Is your brain green, Harry?" All I could do was smile and nod.

After…_Hogwarts_, Luna became someone so very different. Many people don't understand why the girl was slipping into actual insanity from the line between it and its opposite that she lived on daily. But I do. The world around her, was literally, disappearing. She was, quite literally, shattering at the seams. And in true Luna fashion, she did it in a way very few would expect. The last time I spoke to Luna Lovegood, she was the most lucid I had ever seen her.

The wide-eyes wonderment was stripped from her bright eyes. Her once haphazard and straw-straight blond hair was styled and conditioned, bouncing around her face. Her eyes were oddly heavily-lidded, and she wore no unconventional jewelry on her body. Her shirt was fitted and her pleated skirt pressed. Her socks matched. For lack of a better word, Luna Lovegood looked like a fairly attractive – though unremarkable – witch.

I could barely stand to look at her, much less speak to her.

No mention of fantastical creatures. No joyful exclamations, or exuberant outbursts. And none of the feeling of mystique and…hope…that the Luna I knew always dragged out of me and wrapped around my shoulders for me. No non sequiturs to brighten up one's day, or induce a migraine headache the likes of which were near blinding. None of the things that made Luna…Luna. After a month went by, and no signs of regression showed, I had to sit down and come to terms with reality. The girl I knew was well and truly dead.

And then I found out some time later, that her body had followed.

So on Wisteria Walk drive I stood, awaiting the murderers of Luna Lovegood, with a sack holding the crippled and broken body of the girl's childhood friend – and the murderers' sister – sitting next to my feet.

Idly, I continue whacking the bag with my Stick. It was a wonderful stress reliever. As long as I continued wailing on the girl's legs, it would do no one any harm. Wasn't like she could feel it.

* * *

Fred and George Weasley were tricksters. They were jokers to the core, and they were, for the most part, harmless.

And then George died.

And Fred cracked.

Half of Fred Weasley died with his twin. And half of George Weasley lived on in his brother.

I have no idea what it was, be it magical or purely psychological, but Fred Weasley lost his mind the instant his brother passed. The fact that they were hundreds of miles away from each other didn't appear to matter. What did matter was, there apparently were two minds kicking around in one body, and both minds seemed intent on recreating a body for the fallen twin.

The Weasley twins were quite intelligent when they put their minds to something. They routinely did beyond-NEWT-level potions, transfiguration and charms for the purpose of creating silly little trinkets to amuse. So when Fred Weasley started dabbling into the ideas of creating a body for what appeared from an outside perspective to be a fractured piece of his sanity, people steered clear.

And most doubted he wouldn't find a way.

The fact that, somehow, that lead to the bleeding out – albeit accidentally – of Luna Lovegood is my qualm with the whole nonsense.

I wasn't in love with Luna.

We barely spoke once I returned.

But it was something I couldn't let go.

Luna Lovegood was tainted. She was defiled. Not in the physical sense, as far as I'm aware. But even the _memory_ of the girl was all but ravished by the world around her. A part of me is aware that I am taking my frustration for what Hogwarts did to Luna, out on the twins. But that same part of me has no issue pointing out that before the girl could even be fixed, she was bled empty by the single body of the Weasley Twins.

Another part of me entirely blames myself for the entire thing. But I wake up every morning telling that part in no uncertain terms to shut up or I'd lobotomize myself of it with one of the goblins' gold decorative pickaxes.

Vengeance is something I am wonderful at. There's something liberating about losing one's self in the pursuit of righting a wrong. Becoming so resolute in your task that you become the _embodiment_ of Justice, at least in your own mind. Some fight through punishment that would kill a lesser man. Others brush off horrors that would entrance one of weaker will.

Me, I just feel this very incessant need to destroy things. And what better place to do that, than the one place on the entire island that I wasn't supposed to do so. Sure, I was going up against a completely insane opponent, who quite possibly could be two people in one body. But I had my hostage. I had myself. I had an Intelligence advantage concerning the land. And I had my Stick.

I'm ready when you are, Weasley(s).

Me, a burlap sack with your battered and paraplegic baby sister in it, and my motherfucking Stick.

* * *

"Harry, old chap!-

"-Good to see you, mate!

"Indeed it is good to see Harry, my good brother! Spot on observation!

"Why thank you, brother of mine!"

"Would you shut the fuck up?" The back and forth was really grating on my nerves. Especially considering the back and forth was including only one person. Fred would speak, turning his head to the right, and then carry on with his head to the left, as if regarding an imaginary co-conspirator. It was annoying beyond all belief. In fact, I was deeply considering leaving him doing it, as it was drawing up my ire, and I was sure the ensuing Stick Treatment would feel wonderful.

"Which one of us, mate?"

I'm fairly sure at this point my eye has begun to twitch, and my grip on my Stick is starting to burn up my knuckles and through my hand. And oddly enough, I'm sure, it's become increasingly hard to not break into laughter.

Their antics are juvenile, but if there's one thing either of the Weasley twins were good at, it was drawing a smile, intentional or not. Mine had a lot to do with my next action, which was to pull my Stick back and wail on Little Ginny Weasley as she lay in the bag next to me. Her screams stopped the chatter instantly, and the jovial look slid away from Fred's face, almost in slow-motion.

Finally.

* * *

The spiral of crimson light that rockets my way is barely avoided by a very clumsy dive to my side. I should have expected Fred to have skill, but for some reason I didn't expect nonverbal casting. Was a stupid assumption on my part, that causes me to have to roll out of the way of the falling Wisteria Walk sign as it comes down to decapitate me.

A sickly grey burst comes toward me, and I have to push myself back along the bumpy asphalt. My skin is screaming in protest at this point, and the loss of my Stick on the ground next to Ginny's bag is disheartening. Pushing myself into a roll away from my Stick, I toss out a verbalized Blasting Hex followed by a quick, nonverbal Banisher. If he moved out of the way, then it wouldn't do much of anything. But if he conjured up a mineral slab, then the Blaster would send the shards right through.

They say wars are won by those who learn the most from opening gambits. So far, Fred knows that I'm willing to roll around on the ground like a clumsy epileptic to avoid curses. I'm hoping to know a lot more from mine.

The Blaster careened forward recklessly, just to run full-force into a shimmering grey shield. A shimmering, grey, _magical_, shield. This wouldn't have been as big a deal, had a curse not been heading straight for me at the same time.

Fred Weasley was using two wands at once.

The one in his left hand was held with index and ring fingers gripping the wand horizontally, in what is generally referred to as Shield Grip. But his right hand held his wand in typical casting form. I've _never_ heard of anyone being able to cast simultaneously out of what's commonly called Sword and Shield Form. Ever. It requires too much dual thought, to the point of…needing two different minds. Ok, so it's not so farfetched to think this fucking certifiable bastard might be able to do something that requires either absurd intelligence, or actual insanity.

It does make me wonder which it is.

I can say one thing though. Of the two of us, I sure did learn the most about my opponent in my opening move!

* * *

His casting was fast, his parrying faster, and my patience wearing even quicker that either. I've come to understand now why I hate Weasleys. Even to the end, they are frustratingly adept at not giving up. And not for the first time, I am left wondering how the whole lot of them didn't end up a bloodline of Badgers.

His shielding knowledge is extensive, almost to the point of being excessive. I realize as a shimmering orange shield absorbs a probing Piercer, that he has been changing shields just for the sake of casting something different. He's showing off!

And if there's something I hate, its people showing off to me. Only I'm allowed to needlessly flaunt my ability mid-battle, dammit!

Taking aim, I fire two rapid Piercers at the same point, followed by a Cannonball Hex. The first Piercer hits the shield and blunts against it, but the flicker of the orange shield is exactly what I was looking for. The second Piercer bursts through the dimming light of the first with aim that would have made Robin Hood green, and I can't suppress the grin that slides across my face as I strafe to the side at as quick a run as I can achieve without running into someone's postbox. I lay a hard kick into what I suspect is Ginny's arm, and her squeal of protest is precisely what I needed. Fred may have two wands, but I have two secret weapons of my own, and one of them is his helpless little sister in a sack.

His eyes flicker to her just long enough to miss the first Piercer cracking through the orange shield, and the angry red cracks that begin to spider-web their way away from the point that come with it. And then the Cannonball Hex hit, and it was like watching a beautiful, angry, vengeful Bowling Ball burst through a huge Christmas bulb. The light died in the shield and the fragments of the magic that had held it together exploded apart, shards flickering in the dawn light, and some even being lightly dusted by the splattering of blood that left Fred's mouth. It would have been beautiful, but it was too many reds, oranges, and fire-tones for me, between the shield, the blood and Fred's hideously colored hair.

Pressing the advantage, I fire another Cannonball, but at the ground just below Fred's feet, with a Banisher coming in hot behind it, aimed to spread and not to spear at a specific point. The Cannonball Hex decimates the pavement below Fred's feet and he takes a light bit of shrapnel damage to his lower legs, but the Banisher that follow sends the pieces that didn't graze him, rushing toward him. He gets a shield up with his left hand, barely, but its what I had been hoping for. Because heading right toward him is a spell known as the Shield Breaker.

It's a bitch to cast, I have to say, and it's another one of those fool's gambits I tend to take, but all I can do is hope it pays off. It's really a magical shockwave, aimed to hit a certain type of shield and reverberate through the wand and into the caster. It does nothing if the shield is dropped, but if it hits…

"Fuck!" There it was! Fred's exclamation is loud and angry, but not quite loud enough to mask the sound of his index and ring fingers breaking. The Shield Breaker has a lot of flaws, but it is one of the best defenses to an opponent using Shield Form that has ever been created. I fire some lazy Slashers at Fred and look around for my Stick, admittedly thinking the redhead relatively neutered. How wrong I was, as a weak gonging sound meets my ears.

Now in Fred's right hand, he holds his wand in Shield Form. The shield he's cast with his right is weak, and extremely flawed, but my spells were unnecessarily underpowered. Idiot, Potter, idiot.

His left hand holds his wand in a shaky grasp, and begins firing excessively wide Cutters, the first volley a set of two parallel to each other. Turning to the side, I'm able to avoid them, but the next set clips my hip, and the one after that cuts through the second of the two Cannonball Hexes I was able to get off by eating the Cutter. The first Hex hits the shield Fred's right hand hastily erects, and enough of the force gets through that he stumbles back a moment, which throws his left's next round of Cutters wide to the left. The lawn to the side gains a thin line through it, and the little red flag on the side of the imported postbox dangles pitifully.

The thing about Cutting Curses is, the wider they are, the less powerful they tend to be. There's only a certain amount of power that they can hold, and if they're long, they're thin and weak, but if they're short, they hold a lot of punch. I fire several of my own Cutters, pausing for a moment to be pleased with myself for having such narrow, darkly-colored, thick Cutting Curses. Limping to the side, I chance another kick to Ginny, who makes the expected squeak that makes me infinitely more happy the girl is incapable of having even a slight tolerance for pain. The distraction works as expected, and I'm pleased to watch Fred's right pinky finger fall to the ground and bounce lightly. The second Cutter glances off of his shield at an angle and grazes his face along his chin, up his cheek and across his ear.

The fact that I can just make out his teeth through the slit in his cheek disgusts me and fills me with a great deal of pride at my Cutter at the same time. He fires back a Blasting Hex that I deflect to the side of me, before Banishing the broken pavement at him again. He's learned, and shakily tries to move out of the way, but finds himself strafing directly into the path of a pair of Burrowing spells. He is able to shield those before sending a burst of magic at me that I can't identify, but can make out as physically manifested.

And whatever it is, I don't want it hitting me.

With quick wand work, I'm able to create a dense, quasi-physical shield in the air, but the spell begins to push it toward me. Fred has all of his energy on whatever it is he is doing, and the shield has begun to turn an angry red color and looks close to rocketing back toward me. Breathing deeply, I cast the best numbing and Fire-Freezing charms I know, before I brace the shield with my left hand. The protections go quickly, and I can smell the burning of my flesh, but I know this is my only chance, as _both_ of Fred's wands are occupied on this one spell, as is all of his attention. Looking around the shield, I fire a Burrower that eats through Fred's right shoulder, and knocks him out of concentrating on the spell. I release the magic holding the shield, and feel the pain shoot up my arm as the cool morning air touches the burned skin.

Fucking Fred and his fucking fire.

I fire every spell I can think of quickly, as a distraction, giving me time to _try _and rush over and grab not only Ginny's bag, but my Stick. This leaves me clutching my wand in my teeth as I lift the bad in my right hand and hold my precious Stick tightly under my right arm. Fred fends off the last of my spells as I am able to hobble myself back behind one of the fences into the backyard of a nearby house.

Until now, we'd been fighting in the open in the middle of the street like a bunch of idiots. I brought the fight here because I have tactical superiority, and it took me getting a hole made in my hand for me to remember to use it. I must admit, not my brightest moment, but I do have the tendency to forget logic and…most things, in the pursuit of living in the moment. In times like these, the moment may be all you have, so sometimes you need those fights in the middle of the street like some old Western.

But other times, the moment calls for stowing a girl in a bag in a tool shed, and taking off over low fences and around houses while dodging terribly aimed curses sent in every direction.

* * *

I lost him somewhere around Number Twenty-Eight, and I find myself peaking out into the main street from around the side of Number Nine, seeing if I can find him. And there he is, trying to march down the street toward me, although I don't think he sees me.

He's a study in duality. The left side of him is utterly destroyed. Index and ring fingers swollen and purple from internal bleeding, and the blood running down the side of his face seems to have finally begun clotting. He spits out blood every few steps, and his left eye is sagging in clear signs of succumbing to the wear and tear. But his right side if something entirely different. His right eye is sharp. His hand holds his wand in a more traditional close-fisted grip, and his arm is straight. It is truly like watching two halves of two very different people, mashed together into one. It's clear the left side is nearly defeated, but the wildness Fred's right eye is something to behold, truly. It's the first time I have ever felt myself actually believing that there might really be two people kicking around in Fred's head.

Well, as a service to them _both_, I suspect its time I end this soon.

Fred makes it past my hiding spot, and is making his way back toward Number One, when I start my spells. Firing a Cutter at the postbox he had glanced in an earlier attack, I sever it from its base just as my Banisher hits it, sending the tin construct barreling toward the back of the Weasley's head.

Mustering up all the energy I have left as I try and will my body into a run toward him, I fire several repetitions of a pair of Cannonball Hexes followed by a Banisher at a car parked on the side of the street. The Cannonball Hexes dent the door nearest to me before the Banisher pushes on it. It takes four rounds before the door falls in, and another two rounds before I send the door on the other side flying out toward Fred. Aiming two Cutting curses horizontally, and sending a Slasher behind them vertically at a diagonal tilt through the hole in the car, I run around it as I close in. He's handled my curses as I round the sedan, and I'm pleased to note that he's bleeding from two points on his stomach. He must have chosen to do a shield to block the Slasher instead of the Cutter, as they require two different defenses.

He starts to fire spells as I come around, but I parry as best I can as I continue to barrel forward like the idiot I am fully believing myself to be at this point. All I can do is attribute it to insanity being contagious, and try and hope my final gambit pays out.

It has to, because if it doesn't work, he _will_ kill me.

* * *

I'm sure the fact that I threw my wand at him as I came closer confused Fred Weasley a great deal. It had to, as he tracked the wand with his eyes. And it was the last thing he saw, and I reared back with my Stick and slammed him in the face with it with every ounce of strength I had left. He dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and I'm fairly sure that I not only heard his jaw break, but through the cut in his cheek, I might have actually _seen _it.

But just to be sure, I hit him a few more times.

Just to be sure.

* * *

Hobbling myself over to the door I was looking for, dragged Fred's body behind me. Sticking my finger into the cut on his cheek, pleased that my hit had opened it up fully again, I began to write my correspondence on the door in his blood.

Several minutes later, after I finished my message and wailed on the unconscious - potentially dead – body on the ground, I hobbled my way away from Number Six, Wisteria Walk. Bill Weasley would eventually awaken to his severely injured little brother laying on the porch, a note in said brother's blood scribbled on his door detailing the whereabouts of his sister's bag, and a post script informing him that I would be in touch.

And I would be, eventually. But at the moment I had to revisit use Number Three of the "Many Uses for My Stick List", and wedge it under my arm as I limped my way from Wisteria Walk, pleased at a wonderful day's work.

It wasn't until I was some distance away that I stopped and literally slapped myself on the head. I had been fighting Fred, who made use of a plethora of magical shields. And I had, in my head, access to the perfect spell to have ended the fight, possibly, within minutes.

Hell, it was _named after me, _so it wasn't like I should have been able to forget it.

And yet and still, I had somehow achieved the impossible, and forgotten my own name. Idiot, Potter. Fucking. Idiot.

Yep. That settles it. This time I'm _sure_ I am the biggest detriment to myself. That is, after Hogwarts, and the entire Wizarding population of the United Kingdom. But I'm a close third, easy!


	7. Chapter 7

So, Daphne Greengrass is a fully trained and registered Mediwitch. Who the _fuck_ would have suspected that? Surely not I. But yet, here I am, with her sitting in front of my laying doctor on my hand.

The view down the front of her shirt as she leans down to observe my hand draws this deep desire in me to _play_ doctor with her, but that's neither here nor there. That desire is quickly both lessened and intensified, as she finds the need to rub the tip of her wand along my burned left palm with no warning whatsoever. Her disapproving "tsk tsk"ing of me as I wince and she pokes and prods at me makes me seriously consider throwing her ass back into the vault, but I've realized that Daphne is a lot like the contents of Pandora's box. Once you let it out, you want nothing more than to put it back in. But you're stuck with it, for better or for worse.

The worse, put simply, is her renewed fascination with me.

Even while she messes around with my hand, she's watching me. I can feel her cold eyes running down my face like dry eyes, a burn and a chill at once. I can also feel her touch on my…

"Whoa! Watch the hands, Greengrass!"

"Oh shut up, Potter. I am looking at your hip, since you've found the apparent need to go ahead and injure yourself in your idiotic attempts at heroism or something. You should have taken me, or Tonks, with you. But _no_, Harry Bloody Potter always has to gallivant around as if he was Goddess' gift to the planet Earth, and save anyone and everyone who…"

"Could you can it, Greengrass? Seriously. You have no _fucking_ clue what you're talking about, and I sure in the hell didn't go off playing the hero to anyone at all." Her unbelieving eyes stare up at me patronizingly, almost mockingly, from her place…on her knees…in front of me…with her hands on my thigh.

Not a look _any_ man wants to receive while a girl kneels in front of him like that.

"I didn't go play hero. I fucking _kidnapped_ someone from St. Mungo's. Then, I proceeded to quite possibly kill her brother when he came to her rescue. A brother, I might add, who is a fucking _Defender_, Greengrass. Do you know what a Defender is?" She swallows audibly, and goes to nod, but I don't care, she needs to hear this and get it out of her head that I'm what she believes I am, once and for all. "Defenders are fucking tasked to protect the people, Daphne. They are our Militant Government. Killing a Defender is like killing a member of Parliament, only, The Defenders are Judge, Jury, and Executioner. The only thing that can stay the hand of a Defender in the pursuit of bringing forth what they believe is Justice, are the Aurors.

"Here's the kicker, Greengrass. The Auror Sergeant, is the _older brother_ of who I fought today. Do you understand that? That I have now just committed a capital crime, and burned almost any bridge I might possibly have to prevent a kill-on-sight order being placed on my head." I stop to breathe, to try and calm myself from yelling at this girl again. The breathing is two-fold, however, as Daphne has apparently begun to understand some of what I had done today, and was now moving her hands in a soothing motion. Likely, for her own benefit, but the fact that her hands were still on my upper thigh was making it very distracting for me. But the mood for reveling in that, or taking advantage of it, was gone. Talking about it was probably just making it clear to _me_ what I had done in pursuit of revenge.

"Right now, the only people standing between me and a full-on manhunt are The Auror Captain, and the Head Defender. Realistically, the one I need to get to first is the Auror Captain. That's my best chance for the time being."

"Who is he?"

"She." Daphne's look of shock confuses me. But I keep having to remind myself that her family fled early, and quickly. "The Magical society left in the UK is a matriarchal one, Daphne. As far as I'm aware, every major office of power left here is run by a woman.

"Voldemort, Dumbledore and I are responsible for the, supposed, complete fall of magical life in Great Britain. All men. It was a rallying cry once the Ministry itself fell, that the men had had their chance. The men had had their time. And the men had fucked it all up, basically. And I can see it, in some way. It's an instinct, much more harshly ingrained into males than females, to fight for alpha status. To always want more. To want to be in control, in charge, and to rule over everyone.

"_Supposedly_, women don't have that as badly as we do. I think that's bullshit, but that's just me. Apparently it appealed to enough people that women run everything now. And the Auror Captaincy is no different. At least gender-wise. If there's one person who shows the level of ruthless ambition that the men were cast out for, while still maintaining the pleasing lady bits, it's her."

"Well, who is _she_, then?"

"Susan Bones. Not quite a shock, I must say, it _does_ run in her family. But _fuck_ is she ruthless. Ever since Hannah got drained in the middle of Diagon Alley, Susan has been the most vocal proponent for extremely harsh penalties against blood offenders in the UK. It's why I think I may be able to appeal to her, because when it comes down to it, I was avenging a blood crime. And if I am allowed to be held by the Defenders and punished according to them, I will be the victim of one myself.

"And that can't happen. Under any circumstances."

"…Why not? The way you're saying it, it's like…What will happen, Harry? Please? It sounds urgent, what will happen?" She's now rubbing up my leg as if to coerce me to tell her. And I have to say, if she keeps that up, there would be very little I wouldn't tell her. Which means I need to say this and then remove myself from the temptation. I have a lot of work to do, and I need to get to Susan as soon as I can. Before any other reports come in to her, and before she's so far gone that I can't show her my side, beyond the written reports that will likely be piled atop her desk should I wait any longer.

"If they get ahold of my blood, they will use it to ward. They will use it to ward the Auror Headquarters. They will use it to ward the Defenders' Base of Operations. They will use it to ward St. Mungo's. They will use it to ward important peoples' homes and even to reestablish some of the repelling wards.

"And as soon as they do, people will die. Everyone in those buildings. Anyone within the ward schema. Anyone standing near the ward lines. People walking by on the streets near the new repelling wards. Anyone the wards are tied to. Anyone close to the ward anchors. They will die.

"Which means, most of what is left of Magical England will be hit with a magical backlash so intense it will not only kill them, but it will salt the earth of magic for all of Britain.

"Urgent enough for you?"

* * *

Susan Bones and Neville Longbottom dated for several years, starting at Hogwarts. He saved her life on the train, and she saved his during the subsequent escape from King's Cross before the station proceeded to explode from unstable magic interacting badly with the rail system. Six trains derailed before the explosion, not counting the Hogwarts Express, and it was a miracle that it wasn't all over the national news.

For some, it was too good to be true. Almost…Magical.

And that's exactly what it was. A lot of masking charms and a whole lot of obliviating to be done, but it was covered up. For a while. And then one day, the illusion charms fell from around the train station which had, until that day, been believed to be closed down due to a massive expansion project on its part.

So for the charms to suddenly fall and a large group of tourists who had been snapping pictures of what appeared to be a state-of-the-art transit facility, to suddenly bear witness to a decimated platform with remains of trains and rotted and decomposed bodies scattered like morbid confetti…it was too much.

King's Cross made the news. Eventually.

Around the time that it did, the relationship that Susan and Neville had cultivated like a precious flower, was beginning to wilt.

Susan and Hannah were close…closer than they ever had been, to the point that Hannah had been moved into the two bedroom flat the Neville and Susan had been sharing as a practice of cohabitation before they entered into an engagement. Neville believed that, albeit an inconvenience, this could be to his favor. He believed that right on up until he realized that it was Hannah, and not he, who was moving into Susan's room with her.

It was the beginning of the end.

An end that came when Hannah Abbott was bled dry in Diagon Alley. A Defender by the name of Terry Boot had charged her with some negligible crime, and had sentenced her to two cups of blood forfeiture. The real crime had been her rejecting his advances, and those two cups had quickly turned into all she had as she fought against him holding her down with his hands on her breasts as an associate was draining her from her inner thigh.

Terry Boot and Justin Finch-Fletchley's bodies were found utterly destroyed some hours later at the entrance to the Defenders' Base of Operations, mutilated nearly beyond recognition.

Susan and Neville had a fall out over the responsibilities they held. Neville had wanted to become a Defender. Susan was quickly ascending the Auror ranks. Since Hannah, Susan hated any use of blood. At all. Neville had a more shifting morality, in believing that it would be hard to catch people using those enhancements, without making use of them themselves.

They agreed to disagree and their relationship fell into shambles with time. They stayed roommates in their flat, mainly because they rarely saw each other due to Neville being in Defender Training and Susan's status as Auror Sergeant. Things were peaceful until Susan caught him with several Blood Charges in his room.

Neville Longbottom never made it through Defender training.

* * *

Susan Bones is a beautiful woman, I really do have to admit. Even the eyepatch she wears does nothing to detract from that, as it just makes the icy blue eye that is visible stand out even more. Her hair hangs in deep red spirals over her shoulders, the pigtails a reminder of her friend no doubt. But the way she wears them makes them not look quite so…childish. Actually she looks quite fierce.

Or maybe that's because she's currently pointing her wand directly at me with her eye narrowed and her jaw clenched.

Yeah…might be that.

"God damn, Susie, looking fucking _good!_" She rolls her eye at me as she lowers her wand and I take a seat in front of her, propping my feet up on the corner of her desk as I recline and look at her.

"I see you've adopted her love for that damned word on top of having adopted her."

"Adopted might be the wrong word…"

"Probably, considering that would make the feelings you two have for each other decidedly incestuous, wouldn't it?"

"Fuck off, Cyclops." I recline a bit more, making a big show of getting comfortable. But really I'm watching how comfortable she lets me become, and the motions she makes. She hasn't made a move to go for her wand again, and I can see that she has removed any reports from her desk, instead having them placed to a side table. It would be possible that she hasn't seen them yet, but _highly_ unlikely. "Pansy says hi. And so does Daphne, for that matter."

Her eyebrows raise, both of them, and then a grin creeps along her face slowly. "Collecting Slytherin girls now, Harry? I guess everyone has to have their fetishes."

"Yeah, and unfortunately for them, mine happens to be one-eyed sex kittens in business suits with a domineering streak."

"I'm sure if you ask nicely enough, Pansy will dominate you, Harry. But if you're that hard up for some of the Bones lovin', then we can retire to the sleeping chambers I keep behind this office."

"Oh my desire for you is tangible, Susie. Can't you just _feel_ it?"

She stifles a laugh, and I'm glad I've finally won a round with her after all this time. "If you said that in anything other than a monotone, and actually looked at me like you meant it, I might have actually been tempted to do just that. But damn, Harry, you sure know how to make anything sound like you're bored saying it."

"One of my many talents, beautiful, one of my _many _talents. Maybe after we're done with business here, should I not be located under the jail, I can show you some other ones I have." I wink at her, and she smiles, and either winks back, or just blinks normally, as it's impossible for me to know otherwise, with her patch and all. I tell her as much, and she makes a swatting motion at me from the other side of the desk.

"So, tell me what you mean about you being put, how did you say it? 'Under the jail' or some such?" Now that the pleasantries are removed, I know it's time for what I came here for.

"I had a run in with a Defender, Susie." Her eye flashes quickly, but she says nothing. "It…wasn't good."

"Well, you're still standing here, so obviously you did better than they did."

"Quite…"Breathing deeply, I prepare to say what will inevitably be one of the dumbest things I have ever said. "I fought Fred, Susie, and I don't know if he's alive or not."

"Harry! _No!_"

"Yeah, Susie. Fred. And I have no idea if I killed him."

"Why don't you know?" Her words have an edge to them.

"I wasn't exactly in a position to check."

"Where is he, Harry. You…no, _we_, need to go find out."

"I left him where we fought." Here it goes. "He's outside Bill's house. On Wisteria Walk."

"Fuck you, Potter." Well, it was less than I expected, but the venom is there, enough to make me actually recoil as she says it. "Fucking hell, Harry, _what did I tell you!"_

"I know Susie…"

"You fucking make _sure_, Harry. You fucking put them down, and you make _sure_ that they don't get back up." She stands up and begins to pace, slapping my feet from her desk as she goes by at one point. "If they go down and stay down, nothing makes it to my office. You stay a ghost. A wraith. Out of my fucking hair."

"I know, Susie, fuck, _I know_. But…I don't know. I promised Bill I would bring Ginny to him. Fred showed up as I expected he would, and I couldn't fucking resist hurting him. But he was _good_, dammit. He got me, worse than he should have. But I couldn't fucking end him like that until I got answers. Bill will be holding him." I proceeded to detail the fight as best I could for her. It helped a lot that I hadn't changed clothes before coming to see her after Daphne patched me up, so she could see for herself evidence of what I said happened.

"So you kidnapped Ginny Weasley out of a long-term ward in St. Mungo's. Then you took her to somewhere you _know_ you are to be staying clear of, and _then_, you beat the shit out of her brother – a Defender – and leave him somewhere between alive and dead. Not to mention property damage and whatever other laws you've violated. And here you sit, in my office, regaling it all to the head of Magical Law Enforcement, in what could basically be called a confession. Am I right up until this point?"

"Yep!"

"Harry…you're nothing if not ballsy." She's behind me now, and I'm tensed up for the possibility of her slapping me upside my head. But it doesn't come. Instead, her fingertips drag along the back of my ear, down my jaw line and her hand cups my chin and pulls my head back so I can see her over me. Or, slightly see her, around the fullness of her chest…bad Harry! "I'm glad you came to me when you did. I can help you, and I will, regardless of the reasoning you did this. But why _did_ you do this?" If anyone would understand why I had to do this, Susan would.

"Luna. Fred bled Luna out trying to revive George." Susan's mouth forms an "o" as if she is finally seeing. Which she likely is.

"Fuck him then. If this becomes an issue, then you'll be the first subject of my new policy of harsh punishment for all blood terrorists."

"Blood…Terrorists? Really, Susie? I mean, couldn't you have come up with something different? Maybe, I dunno…Why not blood thieves? Terrorist sounds…I don't like it."

"Fine, blood theft. If anyone from the damned Defenders' office comes in her raising hell demanding prosecution from their department against you, they can expect a fight. Because as far as I'm concerned right now, you're my one-man anti-blood-theft task force."

"Too many hyphens, Sue."

"Shut up, Potter, I'm on a roll."

"Yes'm."

"If anyone says anything, then that will be your designation, and it will give you some form of immunity from the idiots who call themselves Defenders." Susan doesn't care much for the Defenders, not since their policy on blood usage began to more publicly mimic the beliefs that Neville had begun to show. She likely blames them for a lot of the tragedies she has experienced. And rightfully so. "Other than the times you get in trouble, though, I don't want to hear about anything you do. Plausible deniability, and so on."

"Thank you, Susie. You're a lifesaver."

"Yeah…but don't remind me that I'm saving the lives of those bastards by keeping them from hunting you and throwing their lives away. I prefer to think that I'm a _time_-saver. You know, saving you the time of destroying their whole organization at once." She smiles gently down at me, before leaning down and pecking me on the nose and then walking back over and sitting on her desk. "Time that I do so hope you spend wisely."

"Yes'm."

"You _will_ spend that time wisely, correct?"

"Yes'm."

"I expect little baby Potters with your eyes and Pansy's hair. And preferably not her demeanor. Hell…hopefully neither parents'."

"Yes'm…wait, what?" She has a hearty laugh at this, and I smile at her, which she returns.

"But really, Harry. Don't forget to live. Find happiness in this all. I know you find some happiness in Pansy, but if you can find more than that in her, then do so. If it's whatever is going on with Greengrass, then so be it. Just be wary of her tendency to want to want to control everything."

"A girl after your own heart, eh Susie?"

"Indeed she is, Harry. Indeed she is. And if I thought that you would be able to deal with it in the least, I might throw my hat in the ring too, as it were." She grins slyly at me, and I'm mesmerized by how well this woman has kept her sense of humor, and moreover, her _humanity_, in spite of everything that has gone on around her. They took Luna, and I fucking made stupid mistakes that I never would have made, and allowed my vengeance to consume me, even for a bit. They took Hannah from Susan. She lost a man she loved, a good deal of the vision in one of her eyes, and a lot of time, hope, and joy. And here she sits, on the other side of this desk, reminding me to live.

All things considered, few have lost more than me. But the fact that she continues to smile and show life, even if it is mostly just with me, is…inspiring.

"Harry…tell me one thing."

"Susie?"

"Why did you let him live? Honestly."

"On the one hand, I need answers from him. I need information. Don't ask me on what, its better if you don't know. But…on the other hand, I should have killed him. Not just because of your instructions, but for _Luna_. It doesn't feel like vengeance…like _justice_, if the bastard lives after what he did.

"Like, I'm fucked no matter what I do. If I killed him then and there, I get no answers. But I didn't, and I can't help feeling like I've failed to get justice, no, _peace,_ for Luna.

"Does this feeling of failure ever go away?" She shakes her head sadly at me. She steps toward me, and runs the back of her knuckles down my cheek. It's affectionate, but still gives off a vibe that she's protecting herself from me at the same time. It's Susan to the core. Even at her most delicate, she has an edge to her, and miles and miles of brick wall between the girl she was, the woman she would have become, and the woman this world made her. And another few miles of wall between all of that, and the rest of the world around her. And it speaks to something in me to be let at least near enough to those walls to know they are there, something most others likely don't realize.

We connect on a lot of levels. Neither of us have ever quite recovered from the losses that have been forced on us, and I have to assume we never will. When I first came to Susan, we would spend long amounts of time sitting and talking. Then one day, she asked me if I had a purpose beyond simply waking up every day and existing. She explained that, from her own experience, it was the only real way to heal. She taught me to start small, to start slow. Sometimes having your purpose be just getting out of bed can be something to work toward. An achievement in its own right. And from there, they expand, until soon, you're Auror Captain, with an unnecessarily large desk and a string of subordinates many years younger than yourself, forced to listen to you. That is what Susan has shown me, and I thank her for it.

Some days we compare scars if we find ourselves with new ones with a nice story behind them. I am pleased to note that I have her easily beat in that regard, at least, though she's not quite as happy about that, for my own sake. I find my scars hideous…painful…ugly…terrible…but hers are elegant. Slight. They give her a touch of…realism. An air of having lived. Of having _truly _existed.

Innocence isn't attractive to me.

Purity is abhorrent.

And sometimes, as she sits across from me, trying to help guide me toward a path less likely to end up with me dead, I can't help but find the beauty in the woman that innocent little Susan Bones has grown to become.


	8. Chapter 8

Daphne is sitting in my office once I arrive back at Gringotts, her eyes large and expectant. It makes my heart sore to deny her any information in the least outside of walking past her and propping my feet up.

"How did it go?"

"About as well as can be expected, I suppose." Digging under the desk quickly, I retrieve the box I had been looking for. I keep things I feel are important in boxes under the desk, and have enjoyed a good deal of security in doing so. But as I drag the box out and place it on the table top, I become unhappily aware that that privacy has been invaded. "Oh Daph, my love?"

"Hmm?" Her eyes are suddenly away from me, not displaying an ounce of the inquiry they had held in abundance once I entered.

"What the fuck have you been doing while I've been gone?"

She's looking everywhere but me, and the question is relatively rhetorical considering the evidence I have on the top of my desk. "Why do you say that word so much?" She's evading the subject, "The only person I've ever met as in love with that word as you was Parkinson." She's evading the question, but not as masterfully as she would like to think.

"Why have you been going through the files I keep hidden?"

"They have my name on them, and concern me, after all."

"…So?"

"So, I thought maybe I could give you some insight into all of the intelligence that you have on so many people sitting under there. See if it can be of any help to you while you're out there in the great big world, since you won't take anyone else with you.

"I was trying to do what Hermione would do, since she's not here and I am." There's this vulnerability in her saying that, that has me thinking she feels responsible for me being without the aforementioned bibliophile. "But while I was looking, I found some information on my family and its associates. And I had to see what was known."

"And?"

"And I can tell you one thing. This information is old, obviously. Last updated when Gringotts fell. But for its time period, it was very…on point. But…"

"But what?"

"But there is something I find funny. I first heard it when you taunted me on it, and it confused me until just now." She slid out of the chair facing me, and sauntered toward the door, and I could practically feel the grin radiating from her in waves. The downcast mood that had run over her was lifted, and her superior air that she loves to project has returned for the first time in a long time. "The patriarch of House Greengrass died before Hogwarts. His wife died with him. They had no male heirs.

"There is no Patriarch of Greengrass, Potter. Because I'm not a man." Her hips rolled as she headed out the door, and stopped as she leaned against the frame and turned to look at me, the grin I knew was there finally visible. It was predatory, haughty, dead sexy, and self-satisfied. "And if anyone was the 'man' in the relationship Tracey and I had, it was surely her."

And then she was gone.

* * *

I don't think I made the Defenders happy in the least.

I got the first hint of that when Michael Corner's hex barely missed me. It was a nasty little piece of work, made the body's magic attack itself from the inside, with many different results. It was like the Bernie Bott's of spells. Sometimes it made the person lose their magic. Other times they would go into shock and pass out.

Once, I even heard about someone's body completely exploding.

Corner's life ended quickly, as he took a particularly nasty curse to the back of his head. An equally nasty piece of work, I'm sure, though the only visible effects of the curse itself were his eyes literally melting out of his head before he fell to the ground to never get up again.

The fact that I didn't fire said curse, but it was clearly directed at Corner, would likely have relieved me. Would have, had Romilda Vane not been standing on the other side of Corner's dead body, grinning at me.

* * *

Romilda has grown since Hogwarts. And she's fully come into some traits that I had seen growing in her.

Slender built? Check.

Long, _long_ legs? Check.

Full lips and bright hazel eyes? Check.

Complete and utter psychosis? Double check.

"Harry, dear, you stay right there. I have something to do, but I will be back soon. And we have a lot to talk about. A_ lot_ to talk about."

I, on the other hand, believe that Romilda and I have absolutely nothing to talk about, and I have no intention of sitting there and waiting for her to come back to me and make me listen to whatever it is that she intended to say.

So as soon as she turns the corner, her cloak fluttering behind her, I take off in the other direction. I am headed to see Pansy, as is the custom, and then I have to go meet with someone I want nothing to do with.

The leader of the Defenders is _not_ someone that is easily approached. Easily spoken to. Especially not by someone who has had a history of being on the wrong side of her office. Which means, I can't just waltz into their Department and ask for a meeting with her.

* * *

"So in true Harry fashion, you intend to ambush her convoy as they escort her on a bi-monthly outing. Down members of the Elite Guard, beat her personal detail into submission, and then find some way to get her to not blast a hole through your skull long enough for her to listen to you?" Pansy has a way of summing everything up so succinctly. I think it's a necessity, due to her limited vocabulary. Despite it, I nod. "What the _fuck_, Potter?"

"Oh, we haven't even gotten to the best part, Pans!"

"…Oh?" Her eyebrow arches, and I feel the need to shave it off again.

"Full disclosure is likely the best policy here. So I'll have to confess something to her, after fighting my way through her guard, and keeping her from killing me."

"And what's that?" Seeing my face, which I'm sure is telling her I don't want to tell her, she grins that disgusting grin of hers at me. "Are you pregnant and she's the mummy?"

"I might have, possibly…gone after Fred Weasley."

"Start at the beginning, and don't stop. Now."

Some minutes later, I'm lying at the foot of Pansy's bed, with her elbow on my stomach, propping her head up as she looks at me. She has this slight smile on her face and after so long of knowing her, I can understand why. Pansy loves hearing about this stuff. She lives vicariously through me; and, despite objections, revels in any foolhardy plans I craft up. Because she believes I can do them. It's motivational, or would be, if she didn't feel the need to gaze at me like that. Reminds me entirely too much of Romilda, or Ginevra. Pansy's a fan of guys who do crazy things because they can. She's a power-groupie. The early stages of this manifesting in her was the reason she hung onto Draco Malfoy.

I don't quite like being connected to him like that in her head. Especially since the manufacturing of Draco Malfoy's demise was so…anticlimactic, I can't quite comprehend the belief that he held power in the first place.

Whenever she's not starry-eyed over the prospect of me doing something amazingly stupid, though, Pansy's probably my favorite person to talk to. Because as much as she likes me going rushing head first, she's also very critical, enough to find flaws in my plans and mock me over them. And sometimes, negative reinforcement works better in getting you to cover your own ass, a lot better than someone telling you how great you are.

"You're an idiot, Potter."

"Yes, I am, Pans."

"Yes, Harry, you are." Why am I hearing Daphne Greengrass' voice? "Especially considering how you're letting…_her_…lay so close to something so important to you."

Looking at Pansy, I find her eyes locked above me, where I'm sure Daphne Greengrass is standing. Looking from Pansy's face, I see my wand close to her fingers, which are crawling along the bedspread toward it, possibly subconsciously. "I don't think Pansy would curse me, Daphne."

"I didn't mean your wand." This time I look up at Daphne and do my best to portray false amusement in my eyes. While doing this, I have to reach out and grab Pansy's hand as it makes its last dive toward my wand. The girl is seething, and her hand is shaking as I hold it as it holds my wand. She digs her elbow into my lower stomach in disapproval of my intervention, and I clench my teeth at the pain her bony little elbow causes, but I keep hold of her.

"What are you doing here, Daphne?"

"I followed you. Saw your run-in with Vane, and given the idiocy that was the last time you walked off on your own, I decided I would trail you. Interesting, that you didn't notice I was following you. Doesn't bode well for Parkinson, that just anyone could follow you without being noticed. Could wait in the wings and kill the girl after you left, or just spring a trap on you while you're here. Not very smart, Potter."

"Greengrass, it's nice to see the return of the bitch I know you are. The wounded animal that you've been lately, caring about my safety, and reveling in my protection just doesn't fit the Daphne Greengrass any of us know." She's knocked aback by this, but I'm not done. She'd been alright to be around since I let her out of the vault, she wasn't putting on some act of superiority. She understood that she'd walked in over her head, and needed information and protection to be able to survive, and she respected that. But ever since I came back injured, something changed in her. Guess people don't like seeing their "heroes" injured.

The fact that she thought she would be able to be any factor in any fight that left me injured was endearing in a foolish kind of way. "Oh, and trust me, Greengrass. Even now, if I thought you were a threat to Pansy, you'd be very much unable to harm her, nonetheless attack me."

Pansy has yet to talk, and a look at her shows that she's still seething at Greengrass, but also fairly happy given the nature of what I just said to the latter. Seeing me looking at her, she finally moves to speak. "Greengrass, I've never liked you. Ever. We haven't gotten along since the day we first met. And I would very much appreciate it if you left my home." Civil, awkwardly so. This doesn't bode well at all, if Pansy has bitten her tongue to prevent anything insulting from coming out, it means that's she _really_ doesn't like Daphne.

I'm hoping for a catfight.

"I really don't care what you'd like, Parkinson. Harry and I have a deal worked out. He came _all the way_ to Italy, just for _me_. Got on a plane and everything, and came back with me in tow. From now on, wherever he goes, I go." They're getting catty, and I don't like the insinuation from Daphne that I made some trip to go retrieve her. I would have rather left her antagonistic ass there, at this point.

"I…"

"Shut up, Potter, the grown-ups are talking." Uh oh…Pansy's mad. Pansy Parkinson lives for this type of banter, and as much as she and I go back and forth, there's never any true animosity between us anymore. And she thrives off of this. "He didn't go to get you, Greengrass. He went to go talk to Granger. You just happened to wander yourself into a conversation that didn't concern you, and push yourself onto him. But that's always how you've been, isn't it? Always pushing yourself into places, and onto people, when you aren't wanted?"

"As if anyone has ever really wanted you for anything beyond having a sycophantic toy to hang on their every word and make them feel big, Parkinson." That was…low.

"Oh, I admit I was quite the hanger-on in school, but do not delude yourself into thinking that I possess no other skills beyond that. And do not degrade me to the point of assuming that I have not learned from the person I am and become someone much better."

"From where I'm standing, I still see the same girl. Still hanging on to someone with more power than she herself has, looking to them to take care of her, and make her life better. I'm not exactly seeing this 'change' you are insinuating."

"If I'm a hanger-on, then so are you, Greengrass." Pansy pauses and takes a breath, her face had been turning red and she appeared to be visibly attempting to calm herself, which is very different from usual with her. "But at least I cling onto someone who make a conscious decision to have me around. I don't deny that I need Harry. He has given me a home, somewhere to heal, and as annoying as his bluntness and transparency can be at times, even that has given me some truth that I can very much appreciate.

"But you see, you need Harry as well, but you won't even admit it to yourself. You all need him to save your way of life, to provide you with answers, to satisfy some academic need. And, while in your mind, I'm sure he's more of a subject, something to plug in on the other end of an equation to explain everything, I know that deep down, you are aware that you need _him._ So while we both need him, I need him as much as you do, if not more, because I don't need him to use for my own goals. I'd rather be a dependant than an attempted manipulator, Greengrass."

Wow. The most candid I have ever seen Pansy, and it's because Daphne decides to antagonize her.

Looking over at Daphne, the girl is visibly in shock by what she had just been told, and seemed to be mentally running it through her mind. Pansy, on the other hand, is looking down at me. I smile up at her, and she smiles down at me, lightly pushing my jaw with her fist in a gesture that's decidedly unlike Pansy.

"Greengrass and I have some things to talk about. Some…history to sort out. And that can't be done with you here, forcing the bitchy little fucking cattiness out of us. So…we're going to talk, and _you,_ on the other hand, are going to get out of here and get to that mission of yours. Go do some good work, remember what it is that you do so you can come back here and tell me all about it. You know I love story time, and I will take _exceptional_ pleasure in knowing that Greengrass will not be available to hear all about it."

I know when I've been dismissed, and I happily crawl out from under my smiling "dependant," and wander past Daphne, who is beginning to recover from the shock of being dissected by sycophantic little Pansy Parkinson. Something about seeing the bitch's world get so thoroughly rocked by, of all people, _Pansy,_ brings a smile to my face and a spring to my step as I leave.

* * *

A lot of people think Cho Chang knows some kind of martial art. It's an assumption, based on her race, her body structure, and her perceived grace.

Truth is, Cho Chang is an amazingly graceful woman. In the air.

She is precise, sharp, and deadly. With a wand.

Her family is from Hong Kong. She was born in Kent.

Cho Chang is the most awkward woman I have ever seen, attempting to fight without a wand. She has terrible structure to the punches she throws, and I find myself tempted to let her hit me, just to prove that she is more likely to hurt herself than me, should she actually find a way to land any of her slow, sloppy swings.

It's almost cute, as she flails around trying to hit me. But cute in a wounded puppy sort of way. Considering I hold her wand, it could be said that she _is_ a wounded puppy.

"Give up, Cho. I don't want to hurt that pretty face of yours."

"Die, Potter."

"Ouch! Right into wishes for my demise? So soon? You wound me with your words, baby!"

"Die!" She swipes at me with her nails this time, and it's easy to dodge. I had really only goaded her into this physical confrontation because I find a lot of joy in getting her worked up. But if all she's going to show is rage and wishes for my death, and not even _try_ and make this fun, then there's no point.

So, as she throws an amazingly terrible punch that's so off-balance that when she misses, it sends her twirling in a circle, I stun her. Then I bind her. Then I stick her to a wall. And stick her wand to the wall across from her.

I don't kill _most _Defenders if I can avoid it.

And I am sure in the hell _not_ going to kill any of the Elite Guard if I don't have to. It's a terrible idea, and I have no desire to do something that will guarantee that the best of the Defenders want me dead. The Elite Guard don't forget. Someone wounded one of them once, and the Guard didn't stop until the man, and his brother were both dead. His brother didn't do a thing, but…that's how they work.

The Elite Guard is a special group of the most skilled Defenders. It's a completely female group, mainly because they are the leader of the Defenders' personal detail. They do everything with her. They live with her. Eat with her. Travel with her.

Kill anyone who gets too close to her.

Too close usually means near enough that the inner perimeter of the convoy can hit you with a spell. And here I am, intending to not only get closer than that, but breech the inner perimeter Guards, and then stand face to face with the leader.

So I began with the outer perimeter. Several of the girls, spread out a ways from the leader and her inner perimeter guards, and they patrol the streets a block ahead, to the side, and behind the convoy, taking out anything that might be a threat. The newest girls are put on outer perimeter duty, which was why it was so easy to get the drop on Cho. As far as Defenders go, she's magically ahead of the average. She has to be, to be in the Elite Guard. But as far as the Guard itself goes, I'm sure she' close to the bottom of the totem pole.

Which means it'll get harder. Good, because I'm just warming up.

This will be fun!

Have to admit, still won't be as fun as watching Daphne and Pansy in a catfight.

* * *

"So, a ceasefire? Just talking, no attacking each other, pure conversation. Agreed?" She nodded, and it was really all I could do to not show the relief I felt. I was tired, honestly. Her girls were more than tough, they were brutal, skilled, and cohesive as a group. But I got them down and kept them there, with no lasting damage. And now I stood in front of her, my wand trained on her, offering to not end her life if she promises not to force me to. "I just want to talk."

"Alright, so talk. Why don't you start at why you've rejected numerous offers to work for me? And then why don't you explain to me why I hear about you speaking with precious little Lady Bones about a transgression you've made with _my office_!" She's apparently not too happy about me going around the backdoor after Fred, instead of going to her first. But I made my choice, and I have to stick with it.

"If I'd gone to you first, you'd have castrated me before I got through the doorway, and you know it. Going to Susan ensured that, legally, my ass was covered. I mean hell, I had to basically attack your whole detail just to get a word to you! For a politician, you sure aren't very diplomatic. All I asked for was a conversation! It wasn't like I came in here with my wand drawn, but Cho said you gave them a shoot-on-sight order for me, goddammit!

"I sure did. They're _my_ girls. The only part of the Defenders above Bones' reaching power. They answer to me and me alone, and if they put you down, I can protect them. But I see that it wasn't enough."

"Not by a longshot. But that's not what I came here to talk to you about. I really needed to ask you…"

I hear the scraping of the bottom of a shoe on the dusty cobblestone behind me just too late, and the world goes black.

* * *

I had just enough time to brace, barely. Which is probably what saved me from a much worse injury. As is, the world swims in and out of focus as I force my eyes open, and the colors all seem a bit off. But even in my grogginess, I know my inability to move isn't due to head trauma. Wherever I am, I'm tied down.

"You know…breaking a promise of ceasefire is…completely not alright. As soon as I get legal representation, so help me, there will be ramifi…repercu…you'll get yours!" Sharp pain laces up my left leg, as cold, unnaturally cold, metal slams into the side of my thigh. The metal holds there for a second, and as it is pulled away, I feel my skin stretching and pulling, _so_ close to tearing away to keep its adhesion to the frosted metal pipe I suspect I've just been hit with.

"You will speak when spoken to, and answer only what I ask. No more, no less." Her voice is almost as cold as the tool I've just been introduced to, and it leaves an equally hot, angry feel where it impacts me. My head aches, my leg is on fire, and my throat has caught. I'm not nervous often, but if there is anything I know, it's that, if I have angered this woman to the point of actual torture, then she has gone through all the effort required to make sure no one will be coming to look for me.

"Fine." It's shaky, but I'm able to get it out. I'm surprised I can say anything, considering how much my head is spinning. Freedom seems miles upon miles away, and all I can do is hope that she doesn't decide to work me over to the point of me being immobile. I know someone will make a mistake at some point, all I could do is hope I'm coherent enough and physically able to take advantage.

That, and pray that the mistake comes before she decides to put the screws to me for refusing to cave to her demands.

"So tell me, Potter…What went through your head, to cause you to attack one of _my_ Defenders?" Her voice is moving in the room, and I'm sure she's pacing. The possession in her statement draws warning flags across my vision, and I'm sure there's no good answer to the question she asks, regardless of my reasoning. "You don't seem the type to do things for no reason. Impulsive? Definitely. But you are most definitely not without reason. I must admit, its one of the things I always liked about you, Harry. You always have a purpose, regardless of how foolish, or _futile_, that purpose may be."

The cold in the room has begun to creep over me, and I'm at a slight shiver by the time she finishes speaking. It likely wouldn't be so bad, was I not naked. A part of their fucked up torture and interrogation, I'm sure. If they get me cold, in pain, and embarrassed, I suspect they think I'm more likely to talk. Easier for them to break.

Fuck the cold, and fuck their mind games. Breaking isn't on my agenda. They want to play mind games, I'll play back.

"I have a purpose, Narcissa. One that you would know nothing of. Justice has never been something you have been a student of. Ironic, that. But you see, when someone does something wrong, it is the duty of _Justice _to make it right. Fred Weasley attacked a friend of mine. The moment he did, his punishment was imminent. When her life was ended at his hands, his existence was forfeit."

"That was not for you to decide!" I've never heard her yell before. It is an…unsettling thing to hear. The emptiness of the room allows it to echo off of the walls, and I'm reminded of exactly how cold her voice really is. "It was not your right to dole out some warped sense of universal _balance_!"

"That is exactly what it was. It is my right, if I can't trust the people who's _responsibility _it is to handle it, to do their fucking _job._ You were going to do nothing, and you would block any form of legal means to deal with him. He could have murdered someone in the middle of the street and gotten away with it, with you at his back. I know, because others in your office have done just that. Sure, because of you, he was above legal reproach. But goddammit, he was not above my wand. Justice is balance. It was not for him to decide to end her life. But because he did, I decided to end his."

"He was a Defender!"

"That makes it alright? Excuse me, but fuck that. He was a rabid _dog._" The pain I felt in my leg before was mirrored on the other, but this time I felt some of the skin tear. Not away completely, but it ripped slightly. No blood was drawn, but the air stung to the point that I had to clinch my teeth. Clinch my teeth, but not bite my tongue. "So, descending into torture now, are we?"

"I do what I must for the safety of this nation." Her anger has drained into a quiet sort of calm that is unnerving. She expected this line of questioning, and feels comfortable again. If she's angry, I can make her stupid, but if she's prepared, I'm fucked. Because that means she has been _planning_ this, somehow. Planning me being here, at her mercy. "You should know a great deal about doing what needs to be done, instead of what you want to do. Or at least, it was something I hear you used to know a good deal about. Since you returned, however…"

She trails off, and there's more clicking of her heels. No forward progress, no backwards. She's pacing again. "Potter, sometimes lives have to be lost for the betterment of the whole."

"What does draining the blood from people until they haven't a drop left in them do to 'better the whole' exactly?" I try to keep the venom out of my voice, but it's hard. She will disregard any truth in my statement the more emotional I become, and I refuse to have the truth of what I'm saying tossed out by this woman. "What does torturing someone do to help everyone? You can't torture me into helping you, I hope you realize that...for both our sakes. You can't break me to the point where I will fix this for you out of fear, I'm not built that way and you of _all _people should know that. Fuck, Narcissa, how many times did you stand by and watch as the people you held in high regard tried to do exactly that to me? Did I break? No. Do I break? No.

"You'll sooner break me until I'm lying here in pieces, drooling on myself from pain, than hurt me to the point that I decide I want to save the lot of you." This time the pain stretches across both of my shins. But I was prepared for it this time, and while it hurts, what I have to say has taken the forefront of my mind, and is blocking the pain from invading my immediate conscious for the moment. "At best, this is making me stay the same. At worst, you're being real _fucking_ counterproductive, and when I leave here alive, you will end up with me _actively_ interfering with, as opposed to just avoiding, _your_ little _problem._"

Clicking. Forward clicking. She's coming toward me. "You may leave." This obviously isn't said to me, and the sound of shoes leaving the vicinity alerts me to the exit of whoever was assaulting me with the frosty pipe. She leans down in front of me, and her face swims into my view. "I hate you, Potter. I hate you for your obsessive need to put yourself above the world. You're a selfish brat."

"And you're a psychotic bitch. Now that we have adequately introduced ourselves to each other, how about you let me up off of this table, and I can go on my merry way with my new objective of destroying everything you ever try to build."

She stares at me for a long moment before a sick smile spreads across her face. Her hand reached up over my head, as she leaned over me, pressing her chest just above my head. And then she sat back some. Her eyes are bright, almost alarmingly lively, and I'm struck at this moment by the realization of exactly how much of a beauty she must have been in her youth. She had to have been a vision. But at this moment, she's a sick, disturbing vision of misguided obsession. Its enrapturing, beautiful, and has me alarmingly aware of how at her mercy I am.

"You underestimate me, Harry. I _can_ and _will_ break you into however many pieces I choose. And when I'm finished breaking you into tiny little pieces, I will be very sure to reconstruct those pieces into exactly what I want them to be. The perfect hero for this world. And you will be my mine to do with as I desire, because I will well and truly _own _you.

"But until I get you to that breaking point, where you crumble into such beautiful, fine little pieces in my hands, I'll have to settle for breaking you. Literally." And a sincere smile spread across her face, before the world exploded in pain before my eyes. "One finger down, nine more to go. Unless…you'd like me to stop? Wouldn't that be wonderful, Harry?" She emphasizes this by raising the stone-headed mallet before my eyes and hefting it in her hand almost threateningly.

"Come on baby, don't hold back." It's hard to antagonize the one holding the implement of your own torture when the pain I know is coming is so evident in her eyes. But I take solace in the flash of rage I see in her eyes. That and her eye twitching just so. It's an action that is so foreign on someone so obsessively manicured. But the twitching stops, the disturbing, almost…mothering look she has had fixed upon me for quite some time gives way as hatred begins to inch forward in her eyes. I can see it there, looming behind her, waiting for her to give it the right of way to rush me. She knows I see it, and she wants me to fear her. She wants the joy of me being scared.

But I fucking don't do scared.

"Oh, you will scream so deliciously for me, Harry. Your screams will fill my fantasies tonight, I promise you. And the night after that, and many days following, as I leave you here, broken like so much discarded glass. But you are much more than glass, Harry, _much _more than that. You're special which is why I will break you slowly. Painfully. Wonderfully. I will savor and love every moment of it, and you will soon love me for it. I will become your everything, as you crack and crumble, and eventually beg and plead with me to make you into the man I wish you to be. You will love me. And I will love you. Love you for your obedience, for your devotion to my cause, and I love you for your screams."

I can taste the blood in my mouth as I nip through the side of my tongue trying to suppress the scream as she hits my right ring finger three times in rapid succession with unnerving accuracy. Both joints, and the tip of my finger, are subjected to the heavy, unforgiving stone. But she will not get my screams. I would sooner drown on my own blood than give this bitch the satisfaction at this point. "Scream for me, Harry. Scream and shatter at my hands, so that I might craft you anew." There's a disturbing romanticism in what she's saying, and it begins to turn my stomach.

Well, either that or the fact that she's begun grinding the stone onto my destroyed fingers while running her fingernail along my cheek. That's stomach-turning enough on its own. But Narcissa gazing reverently, almost …lovingly, down at me is drawing a feeling of intense sickness through my body. The more she grinds the mallet, the more the bile begins to burn the back of my teeth, and spots continue to dance across my vision. Through a rare bout of clear vision, I notice that she's begun moving her face even closer to mine. At the rate it's going, I don't know if she's going to kiss me or I'm going to pass out first. And I can't decide what I want to happen less at the exact moment.

I hate Narcissa. I hate her. The bile begins to burn my throat, and the all-consuming silence of white noise begins to almost buzz in my ears. I don't trust myself unconscious in a room alone with her, and I really don't enjoy her invading my space so…intimately. Which leaves only one thing I can do, that will both keep me conscious and keep her from molesting me. I have to antagonize her into hurting me.

"You know, if you like screams, I have some I can tell you about." I struggle out around my own blood as it wells up in my mouth from me clenching my teeth almost defiantly. I can feel some of my blood trickle down the side of my mouth, and her thin finger reaches out and glides up the side of my face, scooping it up. She looks at the finger, before locking eyes with me and sucking it into her mouth, making a big show of enjoying it so. Disgust shoves sickness out of the way to take precedence as the second-most pressing feeling racking my body. Everything comes second to the pain. "I'm sure you would love the story."

"Oh really, Harry dear? Do tell." Her interest piqued, she looks down at me with rapt attention, focused solely on my story. The fact that this has led to her stopping the grinding of the mallet into my finger is a welcome relief.

"Yes. They were wonderful screams." She sits back a bit, apparently looking forward to my tale. "They were angry…anguished…self-ruinous screams. The kind of screams that, even as you hear them, you know they are the last sounds to ever leave that person again." She's completely enraptured, her eyes locked on mine, and I can't help realizing how sick it is that she is finding pleasure from this, considering the nature of the story.

"They were a bit on the girlish side, I must admit, but wonderful nonetheless. The screams began as the hair burned. Then the skin began to singe and blacken. The eyelashes melted onto blistering skin, and the clothes lit on fire. The legs tried to flee, but by then, the muscles has begun to harden, and the bones had begun to soften. Bloody tears left from the eyes popping were evaporated, and teeth began to liquefy. And all the while, the screams carried on." She's completely captivated. And I'm not finished. Time for the masterful final stroke, now that she is well and truly drawn in.

"Your son made such glorious screams as he burned alive in front of me, Narcissa. It was truly an amazing cacophony of pain co-mingling with stupidity." And then the world went black with only the echoes of her enraged screams to herald it.


	9. Chapter 9

"Why must you antagonize people so, Harry?" The disappointed sound in her voice belies the panic I know she feels. "I just honestly do _not_ see why you have to push people. If you're going to not tell her anything, then don't tell her. Be silent. Don't mock her in such a way as to make her revel in your torture. Foolish man."

"I love you too, Padma." The anger in her eyes lightens up just a bit. She opens her mouth, but I already know what she's going to say. "You ask me this constantly, how I always know you two apart. And I can't explain it to you in a way you'll understand. But I can say, I'm glad it's you and not Parvati."

"You _should_ be, considering she surely wouldn't be as gentle in doctoring you up as I am being right now."

"About Parvati…I'm sorry Padma. I know I don't say it enough but…"

"Harry. If you hadn't gotten her out, any way you needed to, then I don't even want to think…" The tears in her eyes are too much for me. I don't handle weepy women well, so all I can do is change the subject.

"So…what's the damage?"

"Well…She worked you over." She looks away from me, and I can't help but notice the way her hair flutters over her shoulder. I'm hoping the glimmer in her eyes I see is just my imagination. I'm really hoping they aren't tears of any kind. Because that means it's bad. And I can't handle bad right now, I have some vengeance to administer and a bitch who is in serious need of having her place in the world clarified for her.

There's a fear in Padma's eyes that pulls at me. She's afraid for me, and I hate when people feel that way, because it makes me hesitate before doing the stupid things I tend to do. I can't afford hesitation. I can't afford Padma being here right now. "Forget I asked, Padma. Don't worry about me. Just get out of here. I'll think of something and get myself out of here, you need to rest. If whatever alarm system Narcissa has installed goes out, don't leave your room. It's easier if I don't need to watch out for you."

She sniffles and leaves the room, glancing back at me as I sit myself up and hold my destroyed right hand to my chest, my mind spinning.

* * *

A part of me is surprised that the alarms don't start sounding for quite some time. I am however, not at all surprised that wherever I am seems to have been built like some fucked up corporate labyrinth where everything looks the same, there are no guiding signs, and the overhead lighting is dim and depressing.

How…expected.

When the alarms start, I'm considering how I'll get myself out. When the first few people leave a room together and voice the opinion that I must be escape and on my way out, I realize my escape might be as simple and following these group of morons out the front door.

But things in my life are never that easy, as the shadows rapidly evaporate as it becomes clear to me that the dark atmosphere I have been kept in is not the norm for this little paramilitary hideout that Narcissa has cultured, and soon the dim lighting becomes bright and illuminating.

I'm barely able to take out two people from the group I have been tracking before the rest of the group spot me. Using the wand from the first I remove from the fight, I am able to magically banish the largest of the group into the brunette beside him, his body sandwiching her head between the stone leaves a sick crunch and the scratching sound as her skin drags along the stone wall.

I cast as many banishers as I can in all directions before breaking out running in the direction I assume they were going. Apparently my navigations skills leave something to be desired however, because I soon charge through a set of double doors that I am sure lead me out. Instead, I find myself in what could only be a conference room, and seated facing me, is Narcissa. She reaches over and grips her wand, leveling it at me calmly, seeming to be waiting for my next move. The moment it takes for me to deliberate between doing something and giving myself up seems to stretch on for a long time. I begin to lower the wand I hold, which gives her enough time to raise a delicate eyebrow at me before the words "Fuck it" reach her, shortly before the table I banish at her does. The world goes black for me, but I'm satisfied to hear Narcissa's screaming right beforehand.

Hope the fucking table crushes the bitch.

* * *

The table didn't crush her.

Fuck.

She's in bad shape, but she makes sure that by the time she leaves, I'm doing much worse. I go unconscious a bit into whatever it is she and her aides for the day start doing to me, and wake up to once more see Padma.

"I can't fix you, Harry. I can't. No one here can. She worked you over something terrible." She stops and chokes back a sob, and I'm completely sure that she's crying and crying very hard, even though I can't see it. "That bitch broke most of the bones in your wand hand and your wrist as well."

"I'll kick her ass…"

"You won't be kicking anything, Harry. At least not now. You knee is damn near destroyed, your shin is in pieces, and you have some internal bleeding. I'm surprised you're conscious at this point, honestly, considering this is just the damage I saw when I got in here. Unnatural, really."

"Thanks, dear…" She scowls at me through her hair as she wipes obsessively at her eyes.

"Shut up and listen, Potter. You've made her very mad. She sent me in here to make sure you were doctored enough for her to have another go at you. I've convinced her to wait until tomorrow, if nothing more than for her own health and recovery, and I'm not sure I completely succeeded in that. So all I can do is hope that I can get to Susan quickly, and we can find a way to get you out of here fast." She still hasn't turned back toward me, though I can see her dark eyes glancing at me on occasion. "Cover be damned. If I have to blast you out of here, then I will."

"Sorry…but I can't let you do that, Padma." Her head whips around, sending her long black hair flying. "You're doing good work in here. You blow your cover, Susan loses her woman on the inside. And for the good of the people, you all need to know what the hell Narcissa is up to." I pat her knee, with my left hand, to comfort her. "Hell, I had to go through quite a lot of effort to get you in here, I can't think of anyone else I could get that looks like you to take your place. Well I do know this one girl…" I pat her knee again, but can't resist the urge to squeeze her thigh just a bit, and a slight smile shows on her lips despite the tears, as she slaps my hand away. "Besides, I'm tougher than you all give me credit for. I put up with Ron's heavy-handed sister pawing at me for years, little Narcissa and her caveman tools don't scare me." Sighing loudly, I close my eyes and place my left hand across my face and mutter "much."

She hears, but doesn't comment on it, and I'm thankful for that. She sighs herself some time later, before standing slowly. "You need to sleep, Harry. Those numbing charms I put on won't last long."

"So what's the point in sleeping? I'll just wake up from the pain."

"True, but in the meantime, I have a lot of checking to do on you, and need to try and get as much healing done on you as I can before tomorrow, so at least she can't make anything she's already done absurdly worse. Not that it can honestly get much worse. I know you, and it's better if you're sleep for it."

I know what she's right, I don't like it. But I can't fight my way out of here this injured, and with no sleep. "It'll work out, Padma. They won't kill me. And they _can't_ break me." A yawn overtakes what I was going to say, and I realize how tired I really am. Exhaustion. Mental more than anything else, I suspect.

"Take care of yourself, Padma." Her sardonic laughter echoes back to me as I drift to sleep.

* * *

I wake to the sound of heels, clicking on the floor.

"Welcome back, Narcissa. Care to start in on my left hand today? I'll even hold the comments until after you're done with my pinky finger! Promise!"

"Potter…" The seething in her voice is evident. "I must apologize for my actions yesterday, they were unbefitting of a woman in my station, and I will not make that mistake again. Today, I won't be breaking any more bones, that I can assure you. No. Far too crude and ineffectual, it would seem, and not my work in the least, I assure you. One of the helpers I had assisting me last night after you little escape attempt got a bit overzealous, and that, too, I must apologize for. Though, on a positive note, the ruination of your leg does make you a bit less likely to go for midnight strolls. However, emotional frenzy attacks upon my _guests _can not be permitted, so I saw it prudent to attain a new helper for today.

"Now Harry, I do ask that you keep your delightful anecdotes to yourself for today, as I do not wish to find myself enraptured by my own emotions either, as you will probably bleed out on this table should that happen. I was preparing my dinner last night when I held this blade in my hand. And the overwhelming desire to introduce you to each other filled me."

I find myself wondering where the poised, prim and proper woman Narcissa Malfoy was, disappeared off to. I also find it quite quaint that she prepares her own dinner. Oh how things have changed in this society. She was a lady of society and class when Hogwarts fell. And it was that grace that carried her into a meeting of the council, and that charm that convinced those in power to hear her words. It was her reputation that led them to take what she said as a possibility, and her beauty that finalized her plans.

Somewhere since then, it has all crashed down. The woman is still beautiful. Unnaturally so, given the fact that she's easily in her forties. But the grace isn't there anymore. Her heels click in a constant rhythm, and her voice still caries well, but the air she gives off isn't the same.

"Ah, a knife this time? Are we talking bloodletting, or amputation?"

"It depends on how forthcoming you are with anything I want to know."

"I see…Well, goodbye left hand, I hardly knew ye." She groans low in her throat, and grabs my left hand, placing the tip of the blade into the center of my palm. She holds it there, as if threatening me, but as I said, I don't do scared. And I won't tell her anything she wants to know, just because she threatens to put a hole in my hand if I don't. "Well, bring it on. Nothing _you_ can do to me can undo what your idiot of a son did to _himself_, but you're welcome to try." Her rage is palpable. Anger radiates off of her, and her entire demeanor shifts. I may have gone a bit too far, but if she's blinded by her rage over her son, then maybe she'll make a mistake. Not that any mistake she could make would somehow allow time for me to wander my broken body out of a building I'm sure is made more like a labyrinth than a series of linear hallways. But, one can always hope.

I don't get to dwell on my sudden reaffirmed belief in hope as Narcissa is hurled away from me and into the far wall. I hear her body hit it, and I wince in spite of myself. The "enforcer" that Narcissa mentioned steps from the shadows, and it's all I can do to not groan.

Her eyes are wide and wild, but a grin slithers onto her lips as she sees me looking at her.

"Harry, _darling_!" Damn, damn, damn. Someone wake Narcissa up! "Why'd you just run off like that? I told you we had things to talk about! So imagine my surprise to return here to find out you've been taken to Mistress Narcy's special play area!" Mistress…Narcy? "And I just couldn't let her scar you, and I surely couldn't stand by as she ruined your hand! How _ever_ would you hold me tightly without one of your hands in proper working order?"

"…Romilda."

* * *

Romilda Vane is fucking insane.

I realize this as she practically drags me through corridors, left turns and right turns again and again, leaving me confused and dizzy. It's confirmed completely when the alarm begins to sound and she cackles madly into the darkness.

The first Defenders to reach us are blown back through a wall, and then the next to come near are hit with a chair that she had summoned and dragged noisily behind us for some time. As they dodged the chair, she felt the need to impale one through the stomach with a detached leg from the chair she had just banished, and then snapped the other's neck with crafty wand word.

Fucking. Insane.

* * *

Romilda Vane is my fucking hero.

The masterful way in which this girl seems to employ both dismemberment and disemboweling is one part amazing, and one part disgusting. She walks the halls, her wand flashing left and right, all the while seemingly intent on keeping up some inner monologue masquerading as a conversation with me.

I start to worry for her as Cho Chang rounds the bend. As has become the custom, the metal cart she has been pushing me around on comes to a halt, this time a bit more hastily than usual. Something in Romilda's eyes worries me, as she all but shoves me to the side and literally _saunters_ toward Cho, the hallway between them devoid of life.

Someone I don't know comes rushing around the corner and out in front of Cho, charging toward Romilda as he fires spells toward her. His body bounces off of the wall due to an overpowered banisher from Cho, and his head rolls back around the corner he came from, severed from his body by Romilda's charmwork. The fact that this girl has been using parchment-tripping and, of all things, _Wool Shearing_ _Charms_, to remove people's body parts makes me reconsider my estimation of her being insane. There's a level of genius to it, and my admiration of that makes me fear for my own sanity.

"Vane."

"_Chang."_ There's a venom in Romilda's voice that I have never heard before. The syrupy sweetness that all but oozed from her any time she spoke to me had evaporated instantly upon seeing the shorter girl down the hallway.

Rocking myself on the cart, I eventually get it to fall over, spilling me onto the ground with it laying on its side between me and the two women. Several wands Romilda had been looting from the dead bodies she left in her wake rolled along with me, which I gathered up into a little pile in front of me, keeping half of my attention focused back the way we just came, and the other half awaiting some movement between the two.

For someone who spoke so much throughout what had become an hour-long joyride turned killing spree, Romilda was shockingly silent. Her posture was straight, her wand to her side, and the blood she had reveled in being splashed with was running down her arm, spiraling down her wand, and dripping to the floor. It was a striking visual, seeing pristine Cho Chang, in what could only be her white sleeping clothes and a crisp gray Defenders' robe tossed open and over it, standing down the hallway from the vision that was bloodstained Romilda.

Cho's hand twitches, and immediately a volley of spells from both women begin. Romilda tosses out a hex that shatters bone without damaging skin, splintering bone fragments out through the limbs. Cho blasts a stone out of the wall and directs it to intercept the spell, before banishing the massive amounts of fragmented rock in all directions, hoping for a hit. A few zip past my head and a few more hit the cart, but none hit Romilda, who turns herself to the side, presenting her profile. She turns back and grins at me, a swath of blood from an earlier kill painted diagonally across her face. Even while looking at me, she slashes her wand in a vertical line beside her, the length of her body, firing a spell usually used horizontally to cleave down trees.

The spell used in this application clips through all of the rock shards heading toward her, and forces Cho to either move or deflect the incoming magical blade. She deflects, casting a momentary shield before pulling the magic back in, clearly expecting a long fight. Even as she draws the shield's magic back in, she is casting again, seeming to reroute the magic directly into her next cast, a series of several varying pain curses. They are meant to distract as, even as they fly, Cho casts a spell I recognize from my fight with Fred, the same heat curse he fired at me. Romilda apparently recognizes it, and counters it with a shield of her own, set to redirect the spell instead of absorb it. Immediately, she disperses her shield, but instead of reabsorbing the magic back into her, she uses the momentary ambient magic to conjure.

The lack of ambient magic makes it near impossible to conjure anything, but with enough ambient magic, something very small can be conjured for a short time. Romilda uses that magic to cast a charm once used a long time before drying charms, to conjure, and magically suspend, a clothesline. The small amount of magic leaves the line very thin, and Romilda casts distraction spells, which for her seem to be bone-breaker curses and heavy bludgeoning curses, before she banishes the thin line toward her opponent. On Cho, the line is neck-level, and at its speed, would take the girls head clear off of her shoulders, assuming it had enough magic left in it to ensure it didn't break. There's something…worldly about Romilda's magic, I admire as her clothesline's attempt at decapitation is severed by Cho's diagonal _Cutter_, which Romilda readily evades.

Cho starts to seethe as she drops to the floor, her first movement in the battle so far. Romilda has countered everything Cho has sent at her, and then some. Cho has had to gracelessly fall to the ground to avoid a set of four parallel horizontal _Wool Shearing Charms_ aimed toward her, and even as she hits the ground, she finds herself banished into the far wall. She turns just in time to not have her head splattered against the stone, however, her back slams into it painfully. She's slow to get up and appears to be waiting for another curse to come, but nothing happens. I look to Romilda, wondering why the girl has stopped casting as well, to find her wand at the ready, watching the hallway from the way we had just come.

Turning toward it as well, I bring a wand up in my left hand, watching who might be coming. Romilda glances to me and for the first time, I see a light in her eyes. A demented, creepy light, but this unyielding…_joy_ in her eyes. She turns back to Cho and I keep my attention more focused on covering Romilda's back than watching the fight.

I can hear the spells flying and feel the crackling of magic in the air behind me as I stare away from the battle between the two women, waiting for anyone who might try and sneak up on my psychotic savior. Sure enough, within a few moments, several people round the corner, and I send them flying backwards, taking out many of their comrades in the process. They begin to get up, but soon find themselves unable to as I send out _Severing Curses_ any time they try and stand.

I hear Romilda's voice shout out, the first time she has made noise in the fight, and I turn to look. She's clutching her hip, and from where I sit, I can see blood coming over her fingers. It's not a deep cut, and it's not life-threatening, but it will slow her down. Cho has tried to press her advantage, but her spells are quickly rebuffed by Romilda banishing the headless body of the man who had closely followed Cho around the corner and into the hallway at the Asian woman, slowing her down a moment.

When I look back down the hallway, many of the people I had knocked over are pulling themselves up. They fire disarming spells toward me, a foolish idea considering the pile of wands in front of me, but I'd still rather not lose the wand I'm holding, seeing as it is working just fine. So, dropping the wand I am using, seeing as I'm not exactly fit for evasive action, I grab a hold of one of the random wands in front of me, just to have it yanked from my fingers.

The fact that they are simply going for disarming means Narcissa either wants me back, or isn't in any situation to tell them their previous orders for capturing and not killing me no longer apply. Meaning that I can put them down, but they will be wary of hurting me too badly, at least until told otherwise. Sending _Bone-Shattering Curses_ across the corridor, I can hear the crunch of destroyed bone, both as legs were broken, and as other limbs broke in their attempt to break the fall of their owners' bodies.

I get enough time to glance back at the war between the two women behind me, and I'm just in time to see Romilda using a variety of _Cutting Curses_ to push Cho back down the hallway away from her, forcing the girl to give up ground to avoid having her feet removed.

I hear the pattering of feet coming from back down the hallway away from the girls, and I realize a second wave is coming. They swing around the turn to as many _Cutting Curses_ as I could fire in the time, and one of the less observant loses a few fingers. They quickly throw up defensive shields, and I try and keep my barrage up for as long as I can. As I cast, they seem to be talking to the first group, almost all of which are unable to stand or cast due to ruined limbs. However, they eventually hammer out a plan, and the downed members of group one who are still able to cast, take over shielding, while the members of group two get into an attack formation.

Racking my brain for an idea, I immediately remember Pansy's spell. The dominant shield is a large, bright one, which means if it were to be destroyed, the magic would stay in the air and act as a smokescreen of sorts until it had settled and then been drained away from the air. I decide to layer _The Harry Potter_ with an _Excavation Charm_. If Pansy's spell doesn't work on the shield, if nothing else, as I understand the _Excavation Charm_, it will ricochet and hit the stone surrounding us and cause enough of an explosion to distract them.

Casting the spell, I summon some of the severed fingers that had rolled outside of the shielding area and use them to take a few of the lighter _Pummeling Charms_ they were sending my way, disfiguring the digits and allowing me to avoid shielding as much as possible, though the occasional shield still had to be cast.

When I can, I aim and fire all the _Blasting Curses_ I can into the shield, the sound of my magic banging into the shield audible. The man who is holding the lead shield signals that he is going to drop it, and for everyone else to cover his slack until he can get another one up, which means all firing on me will stop, at least for a moment. I use this time to send any spell I can at the shield while it stands, hoping that a few might get through when he drops it.

He drops the shield, and it's the moment of truth, whether he will reabsorb it or simply let it dissipate. I don't realize I'm holding my breath until I need to quickly inhale to get the air needed to magically yank some of the stone from the floor beneath me to prevent the destroyed remains of the many human bodies that had just been hit by the ensuing explosion from showering over me.

_Holy shit._

When the smoke clears, all I see is a corridor splattered with blood, innards, and a lot of scorched rock. I quickly turn to see Cho's advanced shield blocking the other girl's curses, Romilda having had her back to the men behind her, had no idea what had just occurred. Cho isn't nearly as lucky, as her jaw hangs open in shock, not realizing the damage her shield is taking until she winces as the blunt force of one of Romilda's hexes gets through, possibly fracturing Cho's forearms.

Eyes snapping back into focus, Cho casts several spells, trying to get Romilda on the defensive long enough for the former to have enough breathing room to recast her shield. Romilda falls back, blocking the minor, and badly-aimed curses, which confuses the hell out of me because she could just as easily dodge them and continue her assault.

And then it happens. Cho drops her shield, and as the wisps of magic dangle in the air, she goes to reabsorb the magic back into her. Quicker than even I can see, Romilda strikes, her wand flying in a mad rush of motion, sending two jets of magic toward the smaller girl. Romilda's first spell hits the suspended magic that had once been Cho's shield, and immediately hardens into multiple long, thin silver knitting needles. And right on the conjuration spell's tail, the _Banishing Charm_ drives them into, and subsequently through, Cho's chest.

Romilda's maniacal laughter echoes out through the hallway as I try and pull myself up to a standing position, trying to be careful not to slip on the blood that is pooling around me. As Romilda's laughter stops, however, I can hear a clicking sound in the distance. Clicking I recognize. Narcissa is on her way, and given how few people came from the way we were headed, I have to assume that we are almost out.

Romilda rushes over to me, lifting the cart before helping me up and onto it. She looks at me for a long moment, and I can't help but realize exactly how insane she is. The light I had seen was still there, but there is a glint to it, this hungry desire that almost reminds me of the look Narcissa had affixed me with when I thought she was going to kiss me. But Romilda doesn't kiss me, no, she does something much more disturbing. Before I know it, she is running her tongue up the side of my face, licking the blood that had still managed to land on me before my shielding could stop it. I can't suppress the shudder that racks my body at having this clearly unbalanced woman so close to me, and for a moment, she laughs. Not the deranged cackle I have heard from her, but an almost feminine chuckle.

I lay back on the cart, exhausted, in pain, and wanting to be free of insane women and insane dungeon-like buildings. The doors burst open and light streams in, blinding me. I shut my eyes and let out a sigh, and just as the cart begins moving again, I feel a weight on my chest.

I can't help but acknowledge just how cold Romilda's skin feels as we roll out of the building on the cart.

* * *

The cart wobbles and shakes before hitting something and toppling over, spilling me onto the ground and uprooting the woman who had been laying atop me.

I find myself staring up at the sky. The pain is echoing itself in pulses up my arm, and my leg is completely numb, which I am amazingly thankful for.

The sun rains down on me and burns my eyes even when I close my eyelids to protect them, and I can't help but feel like the heat is going to irreparably damage my body. Why the hell is it so damned hot all of a sudden?

Pushing myself up to a seated position with my one good arm, I try and feel around for Romilda, not wanting to open my eyes and bear the pain of the sun. I feel her hand, and use it to move my hands up to her shoulder and push on it, hoping to stir her awake. I push a few more times before the lack of movement begins to worry me. Covering my eyes with my left hand, I am suddenly aware of the sound of feet moving. I reach out toward where I had felt Romilda laying again, when I retract my hand quickly at the feel of spell-fire, my hand having been just missed. Panic lances through me, as I realize that my savior may have been killed. When I hear what could only be Susan's voice as she wraps her arms around me and squeezes me tightly, _too tightly_, my mind begins to race. What would the Aurors have thought, having me roll out of the doors with a Defender covering my body? Would they have cursed Romilda first, and not bothered to have asked questions? Pulling away from Susan, I crack my eyes open, forcing sunlight in.

The brightness of the sun blinds me, and all I see is white for what feels like forever. When color begins to seep in, everything has a washed-out tone to it, and when I look over, all I see is long dark hair covered a face. I may have thought she was psychotic, but Romilda didn't deserve to die like that. My eyes began to allow more color in, and I look again. Still, I see long hair masking a face, a face with empty _dead eyes._ Dark, dead eyes. It had not been Romilda who had been laying on top of me after all, it had been…Cho! Looking her over, I see, clutched in her right hand, a wand. Weird, because, while Romilda is right-handed, Cho was left-handed, so why would she be holding a wand…

That's _my wand…_

Romilda Vane had not only found a way to get me out of wherever this was that I was being kept, but also returned my wand to me. I look it over as Susan kneels next to me. I can feel her eyes running over me, assessing my condition, and how much of the mass of blood covering me was mine, and how much came from any number of other sources. The sound of clicking reaches me and I immediately level my wand as Narcissa regally walks through the doors I can only suspect I just rolled out of.

I fire a throat-level _Cutting Curse, _and it's only Lavender Brown, Narcissa's current Elite Guard detail, that prevents the woman from being beheaded. The deflection saves the woman's life, but as it is, I shear off a large amount of the woman's blond hair at throat level on one side of her face. Her eyes flash, but instead of addressing me, or allowing Lavender to attack me, she instead turns to Susan, who has brushed herself off from being on the ground with me and had gathered up as much of an intimidating air as she could with tear streaks going down her face.

"Bones! What is the meaning of this!"

"You tell me, Malfoy. Why the _fuck_ do I have a battered and bruised Harry Potter exiting your building while apparently escaping captivity from one of your Defenders?" I don't have the energy to correct her and inform her that it was Narcissa who had instead been holding me. Lavender is eyeing me, looking like she's just searching for an excuse to curse me, and given the way the Elite Guard work, anything I say against Narcissa in a public area in her hearing, Lavender can take as an attack on Narcissa's person, and treat as such. And I sure don't want to do anything that could lead to them legally attacking me and Susan having no way to defend me, legally. So I keep my mouth shut, and watch politics in action.

"I have no idea what you…"

"Don't, Malfoy. I'm not an idiot. We will be taking Potter now, and believe you me, we _will_ be having a _long_ conversation in my office first thing tomorrow morning. I would suggest you work out what the hell happened here, and be prepared to make a full report."

"I don't answer to you, Bones!"

"You're right, usually. But you see, Harry is my jurisdiction."

"Potter is not on your Auror enlistment record!"

"Call him…freelance, contracted, I don't care what you call him. Potter is one of _mine_. So, it would appear, one of yours, hurt one of _mine_. So, that means, you _bloody well answer to me._" Narcissa swallowed audibly, before making a grunting sound of dismissal, turning on her heels, and clicking her way back into the building. The door slammed behind her, and then Susan's face was back in view beside me, panic in her eyes as she looked me over. But I couldn't fight the smile, regardless of the pain.

I can't recall being happier at any point, to see Susan's face, eye-patch and all. And it was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep. However, the last thought in my mind was wondering if, and how, Romilda got out. The world is a much scarier place with her out there in it, but at the same time, I can't help but be glad for it.


	10. Chapter 10

I had honestly hoped to never seen Fleur Delacour again in my life. And despite my better judgment, here I stand, freezing my ass off on her doorstep. Despite that, I'm quite thankful for being away from the UK, if nothing more than for the beneficial use of healing magic.

My happiness evaporates immediately upon Fleur flinging her door open. She has her mouth open to shout at the person who was banging on her door at such a terrible hour, but her voice dies in her throat. For once, Fleur is silent, a fact I very much appreciate.

"Are you going to gawk or let me in?"

She moves silently out of the doorway and I hobble in, observing the interior of her relatively small home. I say relatively, because it is still much larger than the average English home, but when you live in a bank the size of Gringotts, everything looks quaint.

"…What are you doing here?" She finds her voice in about the time it takes me to seat myself on her cream-colored couch, which massages my ego concerning the power of my presence unnecessarily. Fleur was silent, no out of awe, but out of shock.

"Couldn't it just be that I wanted to come see you?"

"Considering how I left and the last time we spoke, I highly doubt that, Potter. Now please explain to me why you felt the need to arrive at my home at this early and hour…" And this is where she notices the blood.

And here is where she glances between me and the blood literally covering me.

And here is where she faints.

The reaction is completely worth the hell I went through trying to get on a plane from England to France, covered in blood. It likely would have been easier to just remove the clothes, take the flight and then put them back on, but I wasn't exactly at an excess of time, and planning has never exactly been my strong suit.

While she lays there, unconscious, I can't help but recognize how beautiful Fleur is. There's an ethereal quality to her, from her pale skin to her light hair and her penchant for light colors, that leaves her seeming relatively angelic. My personal experience shows how far that estimation is from the truth, but even that mental knowledge doesn't take away from my ability to suspend disbelief from a moment and just see the beauty in her.

After dozing off on the couch for a while, I wake up to see Fleur sitting across from me gazing intently at a pair of scissors sat on the table in front of her, a medical kit sitting open at her side. "Not planning on stabbing me through the heart, I hope?" She jumps at my voice, and glances up, looking flustered.

"Of course not, don't be foolish." She stands and lifts the scissors in her hand before walking toward me. No…Fleur doesn't walk, she saunters, even when she doesn't realize she is. It's an odd visual, having someone saunter toward you with what's basically a weapon. "Now, I need to get these blood-stained clothes off of you so I can see exactly how badly you're hurt."

"As much as you stripping me appeals to a part of me, you can skip it. Basically none of this blood is mine." Her look is such overwhelming disbelief, I actually laugh. "I promise, not mine. However, I do need your help with a very pressing issue."

"What's that?"

"Well, you see…" I can't fight back the wince as I finally remove my hand from my pocket and show her my mangled right hand. "Um…Well, you see…"

Fleur immediately starts cursing in French. It's a sight to see, her rambling off curses and mutterings left and right, and I can only pick up some of it. But that's more of a testament to the speed in which she is speaking, as I am quite proud of my relatively passable French. "Start from the beginning. What happened to you?"

"Narcissa Malfoy happened to me."

"And _why_ did you have a run in with the leader of the Defenders, exactly?" How the hell did she…Would seem for all of her dislike of England, Fleur has been keeping herself well aware of the politics of the island. Interesting.

Taking a deep breath, I go into the entire story, which eventually leads to me telling her of my fight with Fred, which ended with my revelation of where it occurred and who I left the man with. She's not the least bit happy, considering she still has yet to forgive William Weasley, but she winces at the damage both of us suffered. Silly empathetic Veela.

"Harry, I have to say something, I really hope it doesn't cause you to hate me. But…have you ever considered the fact that what you did by taking Ginny, was akin to walking the first steps that Fred and George walked down when they took Luna? That you took someone that they cared about from them, and they jumped to her defense? Was that really any different from what you were doing for Luna?"

"Of course it was! What are you implying?"

"Well, true. It was different. What Fred was doing when he went to Wisteria Walk was out of defense and an attempt to rescue. What you were doing was attacking out of revenge.

"As much as it would seem otherwise, vengeance is not a noble pursuit, Harry."

"I never claimed to be noble, Fleur."

"A long time ago, nobility guided your hand. It led to you offering to share _your_ victory with a fellow competitor. It led to you running into Hogwarts that day…"

"You have no idea what the _fuck_ you are talking about, woman, and don't you fucking _dare_ allude to! It had nothing to do with nobility. It has nothing to do with heroics. Nothing at all. It was duty, plain and simple. The same thing with Luna.

"My duty to _her_ was to avenge her memory. Bring justice down on the heads of those who felt the need to attack her for no reason whatsoever. Because she was innocent and helpless, and unable to defend herself. And they came in and took her from…from all of us! Where is the nobility in their actions?"

"I never said it was noble. Just that you were no different when you walked in and took Ginny out of the care of the hospital."

"I was taking her to see her brother!"

"Fred was using Luna to return his brother."

I can't fucking believe this. "You're…you're _defending_ _them_?" The disgust rises slowly in my throat and I can't help but find myself with the deep need to break something. "You are defending murderers?"

"Are you not a murderer yourself, Harry? And have I not defended you until the ends of the Earth? Do not mistake me. I am not defending them to you. I am not defending what they did to Luna. But as someone who was once one of your best friends, I feel it is necessary that I don't defend you to yourself.

"You were wrong to do what it is that you have done, but you already know that, somewhere inside of you. And you also know that what has been done to you as a result, was for all intents and purposes, karmic." Getting morally dressed down like this has sucked all of the air out of the room, and left it very silent.

"Will you heal me, Fleur?"

"Of course I will, Harry. But you need to realize, this will be more than a physical healing. I aim to heal your mind as well. It won't be easy, it won't often be fun, and if it means I have to break you down completely to rebuild you as a complete person where before, you were not one, I shall."

Nodding, I can't help but realize how similar what she just said to me was to what Narcissa had threatened me with before.

* * *

Healing is an interesting discipline. One that I never learned much of anything about, considering I was always much better at destroying things than repairing them. Fleur did well at it…there was something about her that naturally put people at ease when they were in her care. She wasn't a technical genius when it came to healing, but what could only be described as her bedside manner put her leaps and bounds ahead of the others in her class, in terms of interacting with patients.

And then Gabrielle got hurt. Something in Fleur snapped when her sister was so badly injured.

I'm told Fleur went from a studying healer with a calming presence and good-but-not-great skill, to a fucking whirlwind of magic. Fleur herself routinely refers to it as a form of adult-onset accidental magic, but I've always just considered such things as a magical form of adaptation.

However it manifested itself, Fleur has a way with curative magic that few people I know of can match. And considering the fact that I can't simply slap on a bone-knitting charm and traipse back to England, coming to France to have her treat me was far and away the best option for me.

"Harry?" Her voice knocks me out of my musings unexpectedly, and I find her sat in front of me, staring at me with such a piercing gaze that it sort of shocks me.

"Yes?"

"Will you…do something for me," Her eyes seem to soften from a penetrating stare into a gentle, almost searching look. It's…entrancing. "Please?"

"What can I do for you, Fleur?" Something about that look makes me worry that she would ask me to sign my soul over to her, and I would be willing to do it. Here's hoping that's not the case.

"Tell me about Luna?"

"No." I'm shocked by how quickly all of the willingness to do anything she wanted drained out of me once she asked that of me. She looks shocked as well, almost as if I'd slapped her in the face. She stares at me for a long moment, before she nodded and looked down at my hand again.

"Alright Harry."

* * *

Fleur has gotten herself a nice place on the northern coast of France. She has me sat out in her back garden on a lounge, stretched out, while she doctors away at my knee. Her home is magically warded and charms are layered heavily enough as to allow it to be nice year-round. The grass is green, the flowers bloom, and for the most part, it's the kind of place you could imagine animals flocking to by the group, longing to graze and live calmly.

It looks like a fucking deer habitat, and being on the grounds both helps me clear my head, and makes me feel sick at the same time. It's too peaceful. Too calm. It makes me more edgy than _knowing _someone's going to leap out of the shadows to attack me. Because nothing that beautiful lasts forever.

The fact that I could say the same thing about Fleur worries me.

As I sit, a lot of thoughts run through my mind. The most prevalent of them being my healing progression. Not for the first time, I wonder if coming here was a good idea. I questioned myself the entire plane ride, and I still have yet to come up with a concrete decision. A lot could be said for the merits of flying on over, casting some healing spells, and going back. But there are a lot of problems with traditional, magical healing.

The main part being that it, like _every other fucking thing in England of value_, seemed to also run off of ambient magic. The average bone repairing spells would strengthen injured, splintered or broken bones by wrapping them in weaves of magic that would keep then strong and able to be moved around on, while the bones would heal themselves mostly naturally. It was like, the equivalent of a magical cast, only, the cast was inside the body and attached to the bone itself. The magic sustaining the weave actually came from the magic around the patient, and not from inside of them. Someone a long time ago had the desire to not be weakened by being injured and on the mend, so they saw fit to take from the air around them instead of giving of themselves.

This decision, in retrospect, was decidedly greedy. And stupid. It allowed those people who got themselves deeply wounded in some unsanctioned duel, to continue on the circuit, unhindered by their injuries in any way. No recovery time, no need to go light on the magic because your own was actually doing its part to make you better. Why, when you can simply leech from around you?

What it means for me is, none of the mending spells would hold up if I cast them and then turned around and went back to England. Which leads me here, to Fleur, where I have to hope that her skill is enough to get me better and turned back around to England as quickly as possible. Narcissa will have her hands full with Susan for a while, but there's only so long I can expect them to keep her in check before she's able to get some people out there, and possibly after Pansy, or Daphne, or anyone else ever seen with me.

Narcissa…That woman, I swear.

Something in her broke, at some point. Possibly when her husband was found out to be little more than Voldemort's money font. Or maybe when his death made the papers. In a world at crisis, those refusing to change and those actively standing in the way of progress never last long. Lucius stood resolute on his belief that the Wizarding World was superior to the non-magical one, and they should remain separate until the "lesser" people agreed to submit themselves to magical rule. Everyone is entitled to their beliefs, but it's hard to maintain a belief of superiority when it's the non-magical people who have to rush in to save the dying magical people they are supposedly inferior to.

Lucius' final breath was drawing his wand on his own wife when she decided it was better to go with the flow of the world, instead of fighting it. She struck him down with a ferocity still spoken of with reverence to this day, and the lore of Narcissa been growing ever since. People fear her, for good reason I can say, but even the people who claim to love her, the people who follow her, fear her. She inspires a level of fear near equivalent to the level of love in those people, something that even I have to look at with no small amount of awe.

To this day, the people who fear me don't care about me, and the people who care about me don't fear me. I comment on this to Fleur, and she looks at me as if I am a confused child. "Garnering fear in those who care about you is not something to envy, Harry. It is something to pity, to look on in disdain."

"And why is that?"

"Because either their love of her is built on fear, Harry. And you of all people should know that the mystique of fear is easily removed by the presence of someone more worthy of that fear. Most of them willingly submit themselves to her out of the belief that they have no choice, that they can't do anything else. But all it takes is something to knock her off of that pedestal, and all of those people will be out of the door.

"However, love built upon more…worthwhile things, lasts longer." She notices my silence through her speech, and reaches down and lifts my chin up. Her touching me so brings back a rush of memories I would have rather left buried, and I am quick to turn my head out of her reach. I see her pause out of the corner of my eye, before moving her hand back. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"I don't like all of this 'love' talk." Her eyes narrow just slightly, and I know she's going to snap at me, so I figure, I might as well earn it. "You know damned well that I don't believe in any of it."

She is silent for a long moment, and all I can think of during the silence is that I may have done the wrong thing, in voicing my beliefs on the subject. That is all confirmed as Fleur opens her mouth and tentatively begins to speak. "You know Harry, when I first met you, I didn't think much of you. The person I saw was a little boy who was very much out of place in the world around him. A victim of his circumstances. But the person I came to know during that tournament was someone who faced what he could not change, and shaped it to suit him. You made ways out of nothing, and forced things to go your way. You acted as an agent of change, an…emissary of good," She stops as I scoff at her wording, but soldiers on in spite of my attempts to derail her with my disbelief. "Like it or not, Harry, you were…_are,_ a good person."

"Easy to be a good person in a fucked up world."

"I'm not saying that's not the case. But I am saying this: the person you are today, the _man_ who walked through my door asking for help, is not terribly far removed from the - then false - estimation of a boy I met years ago. You have allowed yourself to become a victim of your circumstances. You've let the world you are in, change the person you are. And if there is one thing I will always be sure of about you since that First Task we faced, it is that you were not a weak person. Prove to me that my faith in you is warranted, and stop letting the broken world break you."

It was low and she knows it. She had built up to this through her whole little speech, so I wouldn't see the inevitable attack on my pride coming. I have no defense for it, and am instead, left staring at her smug face as she continues to run her wand along my knee. Swallowing the lump that forms in my throat as she looks at me through her eyelashes with that sickeningly self-satisfied smile on her face, I force the words out, dreading the answer. "So what would you have me do, Fleur?"

"Simple, Harry. Have more of an impact on the world, than it has on you. As long as you stay ahead, you win." Her ice-blue eyes danced in the daylight streaming obnoxiously though the large windows in her front room. I wanted to hit her with something. Badly.

"Fuck off, Fleur. Your optimism is all great and wonderful, but some of us don't live in a world where everything works out for the best, and all we have to do is hope hard enough and things turn out alright. You got to save Gabrielle, for all the good that does you now. What did I get…"

"Who gives a shit about what you got, Potter? Don't you see, this whole thing is _bigger_ than you! Hell, your life is not even your own, and you don't see it! You are an icon. A beacon! Like it or not, people gravitate toward you because you give them _hope_."

"Fuck their hope!" I'm panting heavily and I don't know why. The pounding in my chest feels so thunderous I wonder if Fleur can hear it. For her part, she looks equal parts disappointed, shocked, and…something I can't place, that almost appears to be joyous. "I don't want to be a beacon of hope. I don't want to be a beacon for _anything._ I don't want to draw people toward me, because people who come toward me end up being one of two things. Either they have their own agendas that they, for some reason, think little-stupid-Harry-Potter is dumb enough to not be able to see easily, or they end up getting themselves killed trying to follow heroic-Harry-Potter toward a salvation that doesn't exist and that I'm not leading them to.

"I'm bloody _toxic_, Fleur, and I will not fix this world. Partly because I can't, but mostly because I don't fucking want to." Her head tilts to the side and she stares at me, giving no indication that she intends to talk. Her wand is continuing its sweeping motion over my knee, while her eyes do their best to burn a hole into me. "The world's not broken, Fleur. The world doesn't break. People do. It's not magic that needs to be fixed in England, it's the fucking _people._"

"And what about you, Harry? Do you need to be fixed?"

"Obviously. It's sure not your effervescent company and light, witty repartee that brought me here." She pinches my calf at this and her chest bounces in repressed giggles. There is silence for some times, and my mind appreciates it. Instead of attempting to process every criticism Fleur has given, while attempting to read the volumes of subtext and masked meaning in the things she has said, I am just letting it sit in my mind, remembering the words, but also her face as she said them. Her movements and the tone of her voice. How she says things has always been vastly more important than what she says.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Look at me please." The softness in her voice stabs at me, arousing this panging feeling of regret at how I had shouted at her. I don't deny anything I said to her, but Fleur inspires a need for…gentle-handling. She projects this aura of delicacy, and she's not delicate in the sense that people would assume upon meeting her. But the people she knows, the ones closest to her, become amazingly aware of how fragile she is, where they are concerned. "Please." The hurt in her voice is almost too much to bear for me, and her pleading seals my determination to _not_ look at her.

Her hand reaches out toward me again, I can feel it. She takes my chin and turns my head toward her, and the moment her eyes lock on mine, I turn my head away from her, much harsher than I intended, but apologies don't fit the current situation enough for me to offer her mine for yanking out of her reach.

I've just mustered up enough courage to attempt to turn and face her slightly when my head is pulled quite harshly to the side. I find myself staring into Fleur's eyes, which are much, _much_ closer than they had been before. There is a fire in her eyes that I would flinch away from, were she not holding my face so tightly with her hands that I'm sure I'll have small bruises from her fingertips come tomorrow. She locks eyes with me, and when I try and look away, she moves her head to follow my eyes. And time seems to slip, as I try and avoid her eyes, just to constantly lose. Finally, when I give in, dredge up my unhappiness with the situation and turn my eyes to meet hers, she stares at me for a moment - a long beat - and she diverts her eyes.

Before I can feel…anything, any amount of small victory, any hope that she would release me, she kisses me. Fleur's kisses are, by definition, difficult to define. But her kiss right now is…desperate. Demanding. Pleading. Possessive. Hot.

And _so_ wrong.

That fact seems to hit her at the same time as it hits me, and she climbs off of me in a rush, barely missing banging her knee into mine and sending me into fits of pain. It is still close enough that I can't prevent myself from wincing, which I doubt she notices as she already has her back to me. She is silent for a long moment, just standing in front of me with her back turned. As I think she is about to say something, she instead flees the room, and I'm left to my thoughts and the consideration of what has just happened. I have my suspicions, and even as my conscience tells me how wrong it was, I can't help but recognize that it _was_ nice.

Though that doesn't make the dirty feeling I have pulsing through my body any easier to handle.

* * *

Fleur is tentative when she returns. She has my wand in her hand, which she had taken away from me after the first few days I spent here were filled with her attempting to stop me from casting mending or limb-numbing charms on myself. Such things undermine the healing process, but I had been fundamentally more concerned with not being an invalid. She holds it out to me in what can only be a peace offering, before she sits down across from me.

"Harry, I…"

"It's alright." And it is. I know Fleur, and my knowledge of her explains away what happened with her more easily than she could attempt to explain it herself.

Fleur is attracted to…fixer-uppers. She is someone who can see potential in someone. She can see the power someone is capable of, buried beneath everything that covers it. In my case, the mountains of bullshit and apathy that had basically covered up everything worthwhile about me when I had stumbled through her door years ago. And she sees it as a challenge. To take someone with great power in them, and drag it out of them, kicking and screaming.

Bill had been someone like that. He had been a Curse Breaker at Gringotts, who knew his shit, but didn't care enough about it to take it seriously. He flew by on his relatively good knowledge, and a fairly good instinct.

Fleur has this…way about her. For most people, her mere presence inspires in them a desire to be the best that they can be, just to attempt to impress her. Someone closer to her is confronted with both that, and the honest desire to be the object of her pride. Bill went from a naturally talented, technically lazy slacker Curse Breaker, to someone the bank contracted out to others. Goblins never fucked around with their money, and if they contracted you out, that meant that they had faith in you to make them the best return possible. Fleur does that to people.

Fleur doesn't, however, have that effect on me.

Not anymore.

Funny the difference time can make.

"Fleur, you can't fix me like that. You can't be the muse to my artistic recreation of myself. I didn't come here because I was mentally broken, falling apart in front of your eyes, and covered in Luna's blood. This isn't that person anymore. I came here because I am physically broken, very, _very_ pissed off with a certain Defenders' Head, and…I was covered in Cho's blood.

"A part of me appreciates what you tried to do. But another part of me is mostly just disturbed at what happened the _last time_ you did that. The mental damage fixed by it is, in hindsight, probably vastly outweighed by the mental damage caused by it." She moves toward me, and I motion toward the chair she had previously sat in. I lift my leg and place it in her lap, and she continues her sweeping wand motions, smiling slightly at me while attempting to look anywhere but near me. It seems she's dissected what happened in these years as well, and has come to terms with how amazingly fucked up it all was.

"I trudged in here, days after burying Luna, still in the clothes I had been in when I found her. You tried to get me back on my feet, and by the end of it all, I end up sleeping with you. Do you know that all I can remember about our night together was how my mind kept comparing and categorizing everything about you? How your hair just wasn't the right color? How your eyes could look at me with that look that just _ate _at me? I picked apart everything about you, but it wasn't until the morning after that I realized just how _fucked up_ it all was.

"I come to you, my blond-haired, blue-eyed friend, after Luna dies, and what do I do? I use you to try and feel better, and just make myself feel _worse_." I can't help the small chuckle that escapes my throat. "I mean, who the fuck does that? Sleep with a beautiful woman and wake up feeling sickened with themselves for having done it? Fucking shameful, that is." She laughs with me, lightly, though I can see it is wholly for my benefit and not because she actually finds any comedy in my musings.

"Harry…you came to me, your _friend_, after Luna died. And what did _I_ do?" Her voice is small…quaking. "I still have the same bed, which I'm sure hasn't helped me get passed it all. But I still think about it, some nights when I'm in bed and I can't sleep. 'What if I hadn't been so self-obsessed? What if I had been a friend, instead of folding to my desires?' The fact that, years removed, I still can't shut those desires up makes me sick."

The news that Fleur desired me was something I suspected but was never confirmed. The fact that that feeling persists is new. And sort of hot.

"I want to help you, Harry. And if that means fixing you up and sending you on your way, to do the Harry Potter thing and fight the good fight, as it were, then so be it. But if it means keeping you here, where no one can find you, until you feel _ready _to go back, then my home is yours for as long as you want it." There's more in that sentence than she's said, and her eyes have finally met mine and they are trying to push those unspoken words into my head. But I don't need those words right now, not from her.

"Thank you, Fleur. Right now, the help I need is for you to repair this messed up body of mine, and maybe for me to be able to use that brain of yours to supplement my plans of bringing Narcissa to justice." She smirks somewhat while shaking her head.

"Tsk tsk, Harry. Justice? Narcissa is not a woman who will kowtow to justice. As far as her mind has led her to believe, she defines what is and what isn't just. How about, just this once Harry, do something for me." I quirk my eyebrow and she stares at me, this…light in her eyes that seemed downright mischievous. "Fuck justice. Get _revenge._"

I do admit, I like the sound of this.

* * *

Being able to walk properly again is a blessing. Fleur wakes up to breakfast already prepared for her the day after I am fully healed, and she smiles at me while she eats. In between light discussion, I am left racking my brain trying to figure out ways to get to Narcissa. I find myself somewhat annoyed at having left her Inner Guard in relatively good shape considering the fact that I will, no doubt, have to go through them again. Admittedly, they will be at least one short, given Romilda's killing of Cho.

I wait until Fleur finishes eating before I tell her that story, which I had skipped over in my retelling of events to her when I first arrived. As I do, she looks more and more enthralled by the story. "So you break out of the Defenders' Headquarters with the help of a crazy woman who has been obsessed with you, and she basically goes on a murder-spree through the building, and you _still_ manage to get out? Wow. Some fan you've got there, Harry."

Her phrasing makes me suddenly aware of something I hadn't wondered before. How is it that we were able to run roughshod through the building, with Romilda going through and killing or maiming anyone who looked at her funny, and not meet the majority of the forces I personally know the Defenders have access to? It was a skeleton crew in that building at best, and it couldn't have been coincidence. My opinion of Romilda shifted, as her timing and execution of my breakout belied the somewhat…apparent insanity she displayed during the process of getting me out. "Yeah…yeah she is."

After breakfast, Fleur begins work on double-checking my hand. Since she finished work on my leg, she's been hard-pressed to keep me sitting down for her to do work on my hand. As such, we spent most of the time walking around the grounds as she repaired my hand. Sometimes we would even wander into the more populated areas, and I can only imagine how it looked, with her holding my hand and making a show of caressing it to cover for her wand movement as it hid up her sleeve.

Wholly unnecessary, given the current…state of magic in the world, but the appearance of it was still fairly intimate.

I have come to terms with the realization that my capture by Narcissa has done more than left me injured and deeply pissed off. Being immobile and feeling trapped on that couch was messing with my head a lot more than Fleur's attempts to psychoanalyze my feelings on the women in my life.

And did she ever attempt to do that.

Even now, as I finally sit so she can make her last checks of my hand, she attempts to ask more questions. For the most part, I ignore everything she says as soon as she begins this tired relapse of conversation. However, something strikes a chord in my mind. "You know, Harry, I'm surprised you're being anywhere near Daphne Greengrass, all things considered." My eyes move toward her and she has this somewhat confused look on her face. "I mean, I don't mean to doubt your choices and your plans, but I have to wonder if you think that's a good idea, planning or not."

Daphne never struck me as someone Fleur would know about. So the fact that she knows about the girl, and apparently has information I don't, unnerves me. "…What do you mean?"

"Well, I never struck you for _that _reckless and cocksure. I mean…considering everything I _heard_ she got into immediately after Hogwarts can only be mostly legend. But even still, she can't be the most wholesome character to have around you."

I have _no_ idea what the fuck Fleur is talking about. And that worries me. "What did she do? And what in the _hell_ are you talking about?"

Fleur looks at me warily, and then down at my hand. "You're hand's fine. You're done, Harry." She pats my hand in an almost dismissive way, before locking eyes with me. "I can't tell you much more than I have, Harry. I don't know the truth, and if any of what I've heard are lies, I'd be doing the girl a disservice. I'm sure you know someone who was there at the time who can give you more information. All I can tell you is that, my understanding of it was that it was meant to be kept quiet. And…"

"…And what, Fleur." I grip her hand tightly and look at her, pleadingly. I'm out of the look on something, and it sounds bad.

"Let's just put it this way, Harry. For whatever reason, whatever she did…" She takes a deep breath and turns and looks at me. "She was on a 'No Heal' list, Harry. She was on a very, _very_ small list of people that healers are told to not fix, should they come under our care. They are the grey area to our oath. Whatever it was that she's done, or been accused of doing, was bad enough to make her ineligible for magical medical treatment. Anywhere."

_Holy mother of fuck._


	11. Chapter 11

"Harry!" Hermione's shock would have been endearing, were it not the only expression I ever see on her face anymore. I've found myself growing increasingly annoyed by her inability to display many emotions beyond it in my presence, but I suspect it is in some way my fault. "What are you doing back! Is Daphne with you? What has been going on, I have been hearing bits and pieces from Daphne's people about some things happening-"

I cut her off because I know she won't stop talking until she has to breathe, and I would rather not test her lung capacity, given how apparently short on time I am. "Hermione, just stop talking." She immediately stops and looks up at me expectantly, but all I can do for her is try and gently push her out of the way. Unfortunately, in my rush, the closest I can get to gentle sends her stumbling to the side of the doorway as I charge past her. I don't know what to believe about her anymore. First the fact that she's been studying me, then…whatever it is with Daphne…I need information, and I need her to not know what I am looking for until after I have found it and figured this all out.

Scanning through the books on the table in the middle of the clusterfuck of shelves and strewn parchment, I grab a journal that was opened to about midway and scan through Hermione's writing. Flipping back to the beginning of the book, I can't stop the curse that leaves my mouth before I drop the book where I stood and turn to look for an earlier volume.

"Harry! Pick that up!"

I try to bite back the "Fuck off, Hermione" before it escapes my mouth but I'm unable to. I realize what I've said and whip my head up to see her, and all I can focus on is the color draining out of her face. I can't muster up the time to feel sorry so I try and give her my best apologetic look as I move to the other side of the room. "Look, Hermione. I don't have the time or the patience for any tidiness lectures from you. Especially considering this place looks like a tornado wandered through. If you want to say anything, then point me to any information that you have from the beginning. From right after Hogwarts."

"But Harry…"

"Just point me to it, Hermione!" She points a shaky finger toward a book to the far end of the table, and I move around to it and pull its cover open, my eyes rushing across the pages and trying to find the dates I need. Hermione is an obsessive documenter. She journals anything and everything that happens to her each day at the end of the day unless something prevents her from doing so. Which means, her life following Hogwarts would be written down somewhere.

Where is it…I don't need to read about her failed dates with Ron, and I sure don't need to see anything concerning her helping Ginny with her research on me. "Goddammit Hermione, on what page does Hogwarts happen?"

"It's dog-eared…" I feel like smacking myself in the face, but I decide to instead just flip to the marked page and try and scan for whatever I can find as quickly as possible before Hermione feels the need to talk again. My brain is a whirl of information and confusion, because a lot of things aren't adding up, and frankly I need to find out everything I can as quickly as I can because my flight back to England leaves within the hour. "Harry…I still don't understand what it is you need to know…anything that we have couldn't come anywhere near to what you must know…"

_Fuck!_ She just can _not_ keep her nose out of things? A part of me realizes how critical and outright mean I am being to someone who I have known for so long, but a bigger part of me is aware of the fact that I really don't have much of a choice given the circumstances. "Not the time to be researching me again Hermione." I try my best to not make this sound like it is said with my teeth clenched, but I know it sounds exactly like that. Can't be helped, however, and soon I've found myself growing frustrated at the lack of coherent information concerning what I needed to know written down within the first few paragraphs.

When I grow unnecessarily impatient, it usually isn't a good sign for anyone, especially not myself. "I have to go. I'm taking these."

"…These?"

"Yes, Hermione. These. As in every journal that you have covering the first three years after Hogwarts."

"Harry, you…_no_. I won't let you. I _can't_ let you." She looks at me pleadingly. Imploringly. The desperation in her eyes as she stares up at me from across the room makes my stomach clench, and there is a tightness that radiates through me. This feeling of a resounding emptiness, like something is tearing at my insides.

"I'm sorry Hermione. But I have to." Her eyes have welled up in tears. She knows she can't win this. She knew the moment I said I was going to look at her journals, that they would be disappearing, and that is likely why she tried to divert me from them. For Hermione, her journaling is her most private of places. The true, honesty of her character is only revealed through those pages, and it is her at her most candid. It is also the only connection she has to all those she left behind on the island to pursue her life of academia in Italy. I am literally walking in and taking all of her school friends away from her.

The feeling of hollowness continues to eat through me, and I am aware that I've instinctively placed my hand over my stomach as if to keep whatever I was feeling from bursting out of me. "Please believe me when I say, I am sorry. _So bloody fucking sorry_. But this is bigger than either of us right now, and you have information I need."

"What…what information could I possibly have, Harry?" She's sniffling, fighting to hold back the tears that are struggling to stream down her face. I have to admire her, as she seems to be holding back on willpower alone. "I wasn't there, Harry. You were. Hell, none of us knew anything about what happened until almost a month later, and even then, the average person didn't realize anything was even happening for at least six."

"That's why I need your journals, Hermione. You _aren't_ the average person."

"But Harry…Ron…Ginny…Luna." The hollowness disappears for a moment, and it feel like it has been replaced by a larch chunk of ice. I feel heavy and like I need to sit. As it is, I sway on my feet, but I try my best to shake it off before she can notice. "It's all I have left of her, Harry. At least you got the time with her…"

The ice inside melts at the intensity of the anger that lances through me like a blade. Its consuming, and I can't bite back what I next say. "How fucking _dare_ you, Hermione! Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? I got time with her? I watched her _die_! I held her in my fucking arms as she lay, cold on the floor. Her blood stayed on me for _days_.

"Do you understand that? I would have given anything to have had the last time I saw Luna be the day you left. _Anything_." She loses her fight and tears begin to flow down her face, and I become painfully aware that the same is true for me, except they literally _burn_ down my face. Too much anger. "I would give my life today to make it so I didn't have to sit there and watch her come apart at the seams. To metamorphosis in such a backwards way as to unravel from something so unique to something so dry, empty and hollow." Ironic that that is how I feel as I speak… "To not watch her become something she wasn't."

I turn and glare at Hermione, trying to push the hurt radiating through me into my eyes so she can see it. So she can feel it. I don't try too hard though because by this point, my magic is a low hum just below the surface of audible sound. But I can feel it, buzzing inside, making everything appear to have a constant shudder to my eyes. "So don't you fucking _dare_ tell me that 'at least I had time with her.' That was _not_ Luna Lovegood. That was some sick bastardization of the woman she was."

Grabbing every book I could see, and load them up in my arms, trying to slow my breathing as to not lose control more than I have. I stop just behind and to the side of the crying woman, and something inside me makes me speak. "In her final moments, she became more like you that you ever wanted her to be, Hermione. And it kills me inside to admit it, but I _hated_ her for it. I truly loathed everything about her in her final days. And for that, I would give up everything to have back. To have run away and never seen her, and just been told years later of her death. It must have been _so, fucking, easy._ Wake up one day and little loony Luna Lovegood an ocean away no longer breathes. 'Oh well, back to the library to lie to Harry and continue attempting to dissect him textually,' right? Be thankful you have it so _easy_."

Slamming my shoulder into the door, I am halfway down the hall before I hear her break down and begin audibly bawling. I'm surprised at her strength, honestly. Because I felt like dropping to the floor as soon as I left the room. I'm still shaking as I rush my way out of the Greengrass compound, journals in tow.

Hermione didn't deserve that.

I'm disgusted with myself. So utterly sickened by the person I have become that I honestly can't stand myself. And yet, I can't seem to think of a day where I suddenly changed. I can't hammer down, in my memory, some day that I woke up and was an asshole. Which is the most frightening part. Because it either means I slowly evolved into the person I have become,

Or this is who I have always been, just below the surface.

I think about that the whole way to the airport in the cab, my hands shaking and the journals packed away in my bag. I don't trust myself to touch them. Not now, not like this.

I need to get back to England, and quickly. Seems a part of me isn't as healed as I had hoped it would be, and I need to visit a grave.

* * *

There aren't many rules to this world that the United Kingdom has become, magically. There are actually three. Number one, you do not go looking for Harry Potter. Number two, you do not fuck with Harry Potter should you stumble upon him. And number three, you do not become a target of investigation for the Unspeakables. Nosy bastards that they are, they still remain the most dangerous group left on this rock.

That's not to say that they are duelists. They aren't fighters. They're worse. They're bloody fucking _researchers_.

If Hermione could give me problems by becoming intrigued by me and everything surrounding me, then the Unspeakables deciding I'm a matter worth investigation is a plague. A hindrance on my forward momentum akin to someone chopping one of my legs off mid-stride.

Rookwood was an Unspeakable. Rookwood was also; quite possibly, the runt of the litter. More muscle than brains, and that was about as far removed from the goal of the Unspeakables as possible. Though, as far as I'm concerned, the goal of the Unspeakables is to be as far removed from me as possible. So in that case, having Blaise Zabini staring me in the face would prove a grave breach of contract.

"Zabini…"

"Well hello there, Harry! Long time no see, mate!" What the _fuck_ is he so cheerful about? The sugar in his voice is almost sickening, and I can already tell that this is no chance meeting. "Been well? How's the-"

I cut him off before he can carry on with the trivial small-talk. I hate small-talk. And I hate Blaise Zabini. It's not his fault, he had been a good enough man, all things considered, but the fact that he's a mid-level Unspeakable means that he has everything to gain by turning me into some kind of pet project that he would hold onto with dogged determination. I know Zabini like that. He never did know when to let shit go. "Cut the fucking chatter, I don't really have the time for any of your shit today, Blaise. What do you want with me?"

"Oh, it's not what I want with you, Harry…" The same sugary tone remains, and he's talking in a slow, sing-song-like tone of voice reminiscent of a child saying "I know something you don't know." The grating of my teeth is audible and loud in my ears, as I resist the urge to choke the man in front of me until his eyes lose focus.

"Then what does your collective of nosy colleagues want with me?" He grins as I have likely stumbled on what he was looking for, but I'm not exactly happy with being a part of this little game he's playing. "Actually, I don't care what you all want with me. What I want with _you_, and that means _all of you_, is for you to back off and stay away from me."

"Tsk tsk…now Harry, I'm surprised at you! I never took you as such a hostile individual!"

"And I never took you as someone who would allow himself to be led around by the nose by a congregation of self-important Ravenclaws. Color us both surprised." The smooth, joyful demeanor slips for a second, and I see the Blaise I know is in there, but just as quickly, its plastered back on, as his smile is renewed, brighter than before. Can't have that… "But I should have expected as much. The Ravenclaws always loved their books and their safety from the world. Had to have someone go out and do their dirty work of actually _speaking_ to their target...and seeing as any sensible Gryffindor still on this island is an Auror, and any Slytherin without sense is dead, suppose you knew to get something out of this…And a man who is getting something, has something to lose. So what has you so confident that you think you can walk up to me and speak to me without having your brain splattered across the cobblestone and your eyes rolling down the street, Zabini?"

He falters, and the smile slips away, and I'm glad for that. Honesty is the only way he's getting out of this conversation intact, and if he doesn't make it out completely unharmed then the Unspeakables will be on me in force, assuming they weren't before. He takes a deep breath before looking me in the eyes.

"We think we know what happened at Hogwarts, Potter, and we believe that we know how to fix it…with your help."

Wow.

Color me _really_ fucking surprised.

* * *

"Harry?" I hear Pansy's voice calling as if underwater, and it doesn't click in my mind that's she's calling me. All I can do is focus on making my way through the hallway to the bathroom without throwing up all over myself. She continues to call my name, but soon her screams are blocked out by the porcelain of the toilet and the sounds of my vomiting.

Pansy's hands rub my back, her concern clear in her voice even if the words are completely outside of my comprehension. I appreciate Pansy more than she knows in moments like this, not that I would ever tell her that. I crawl my way up from the floor and move away from her attempts to hold onto me, shaking her off when she gets insistent. It's all I can to do get my face splashed with water and my mouth rinsed out before she's back to pulling on me and grabbing at me. Pansy is a needy sort, and when she feels like something is wrong with me, she clings onto me as if I should be comforting her in the distress of her concern for me. I can't handle that right now. I can't handle being _here_ right now.

"Get off of me, Pansy."

"Harry…what's wrong? What happened!" There's a level of alertness in her eyes that I haven't seen in a long time. A frantic awareness that has her inching toward me even as I back away from her. "Something's going on, Potter, I can see it in your eyes. Talk."

"Fuck off, Parkinson. Not the time." She flinches back as if struck and there's something in me that clenches, deep behind my sternum. Her eyes look up at me and I can't bring myself to look away, instead searching around the bedroom in search of anything to anchor my eyes to, to avoid hers. She reaches up and turns my face toward her, and when I move my head away again, she slaps me.

"You listen to me, and you listen good, Harry Potter." Fuck. "I have seen you practically every day for the better part of a decade. You saved my life, I am fucking aware of that. You gave me a new life, here, and you took damned good care of me. You avenged me when no one else cared, and you were around when even I didn't care. You forced your way into my life, and dragged me, kicking and screaming, into yours to the point that I think I know you better than anyone else in the entirety of this world does.

"I know you when I had no desire to. I don't _want _to know that you have a scar going across your thigh that looks like someone took a saw to your leg. I have no desire to be aware of the fact that, once upon a time, you came here very late at night with a huge grin and a limp after Gabrielle Delacour had bitten into your hip and broken the skin. The knowledge of the number of gray hairs you have prematurely is not something I fucking need to have so ingrained in my mind that I can answer an inquiry on it on instinct.

"You have bombarded me with you, every day, against my will. I will be _damned_ if you shut me out the one time I actually give a shit. _Fuck that shit, Potter._" Through her rant, Pansy has continued walking toward me, backing me into the wall and she waggles her bony little finger in my face with a scowl the likes of which I have never seen on her face. A scowl that is marred by the tears that are pouring down her face, her body shaking in either anger or fear. As I reach out to wipe her face, she pulls her hand back and slaps me in the face so hard that I am left staring into the wall beside me.

Thin arms clutch at me, greedily, as she pulls me toward her. There's always a certain level of…necessity to Pansy. Things she wants are seen as needs. Things she needs are seen as being of dire importance. She needs to know what I know, but it is of dire importance that she is aware of as little as possible.

She goes to start talking again, and all I can think of is that I need to shut her up. That I can't give her the answers she needs. So, I do the first thing that comes to mind, and I kiss her. I kiss Pansy Parkinson, directly on her lips.

Within moments, I'm doubled over from her fist slamming into my stomach, and clutching my nose from her knee meeting it. The door to the bathroom slams as I can taste her tears on my lips mixing with the blood seeping down my face.

Eventually I'll understand women. But even after so many years and so many of them, I still don't understand this one. Well, at least she shut up and stopped pushing.

She comes out of the bathroom as I am headed to the front door, duffle bag and Stick in hand. She calls out for me, and there's nothing in me that makes me want to stop. I have what I need, and she isn't one of those things, as much as I like to believe otherwise. My life has been inundated with Pansy Parkinson for so many years. I like her, sometimes. Taking care of her has always been something I have done, just as a matter of fact. But Pansy can take care of herself now, and she's better for it.

"Harry, wait…" Her voice is hesitant, as she jogs toward the door that I've just walked out of. Something in me hurts when I close the door in her face, but something else in me feels…right.

Blaise and the Unspeakables told me to wrap up anything I needed to do while they finished their testing, but I knew I had things to handle elsewhere first. I suppose it's fitting that Pansy had been my first stop when I decide to get my affairs in order, as, any time something is wrong now, that's where I go. I hate to admit it, but it's where I feel safest.

And it wasn't just because of the house.

I'm halfway down the block by the time Pansy gets enough clothes on to be able to leave the house and chase after me. She's panting by the time she makes it to the end of the street, where I have stopped and waited for her. She stops just behind me, and I can feel her vision searing into my back. She whispers my name twice before clearing her throat and going to say it again when I finally get my voice about me enough to speak.

"Don't."

And with that, I walk away from Pansy Parkinson without a glance back to her, even as she collapses to her knees and sobbed loudly.

I don't understand her. For someone so strong, she seems so weak today…I don't understand her tears. I don't understand them any more than I understand her shouted apologies and cries for forgiveness and pleading for me to return. Why doesn't she see that she's free now? And soon enough, everything will be better.

Ironic that, of all the things to cry over, she chose this.


	12. Chapter 12

Ginny Weasley doesn't like me.

I consider this while she scowls at me from across the couch, where she sits in an awkwardly knitted jumper with a G on the front, and her hair done up in bows and ribbons.

The fact that I think she dislikes me more for having brought her to Bill, than for having kidnapped her and beaten her with my Stick doesn't elude me either. Bill comes bustling in with a tray of tea and sets it down on the coffee table, a bright smile on his face. It's disgusting.

"Tea, Harry? If I remember right you like it with a bit of milk, enough sugar to kill, and equal parts tea and whiskey?" He pulls a flask out and shakes it, the insufferable grin seeming to _grow _on his face. The sight of the flask makes me want to take it from him and drink the entire thing. My nerves haven't settled, and I'm breathing through my mouth considering Pansy did quite a number on my nose. Considering everything, Bill's cheer is more grating than normal, and his presence makes my desire to take my unhappiness out on the littlest Weasley unlikely to come to fruition.

"No tea. No whiskey." His eyes falter, but his smile returns as he places the pot and the flask on the table. Bill dotes on his sister, who sits stoically by as he pokes at her hair, pinches on her cheeks and smiles in apparent pride. The nausea lances through my gut again, and I decide that William Weasley has overstayed his welcome for the moment. "Bill?"

He looks up inquisitively toward me, his hand still adjusting one of the pink bows in his sister's hair. "Harry?" His smile is still etched to his face, the sickening one he wears as he gazes toward his youngest sibling, a fondness there that makes me feel deeply uncomfortable.

"Get out, Bill." His smile slides away, but he stands and goes to walk out. "Leave the flask." He places it down on the table next to me before walking out. Ginny's eyes go from a sallow, dead blankness to a rage that would shock me, had I not become completely desensitized to any emotion Ginny Weasley showed. There was something not right going on, and a part of me was aware that it went much deeper than a simple unhappiness with being dolled up, dressed up, and paraded out for company. Maybe it was wrong of me to leave her here, but honestly, I really am unconcerned with what was right and wrong concerning Ginny Weasley.

"So…Ginny."

"Get me out of here, Potter."

"I don't take orders from redheads, Ginevra." She _hates_ me calling her that, and she hates the fact that I don't seem to be conforming to her demands even more.

"No, you always preferred blondes."

"You're pushing it, Weasley. This is how your lot asks for help?"

"It's your bloody fault I'm here! I shouldn't need to…"She looks like she's swallowed something disgusting as she likely swallows her pride as she realizes I'm her only hope. "Please. I'm begging you. I would get down on my knees if I wouldn't end up sprawled out on the floor. But if that's how I need to be to get you to save me from this place, I will fall down on this floor and kiss your feet. Anything, please."

Ginny Weasley begging in desperation is probably the most unattractive thing I have ever had to see. She's not an ugly girl, per se, but the feverish, fanatical need in her eyes drives a shudder up my spine. "Please, Harry. Please, save me." The shaking of her hands as she reaches across the table starts to bring bile up my throat. "He…he…"

I stand quickly and step back from the table before she can reach out to me. Her pleading eyes look up to me as she holds her arms out for me to pick her up and hopefully take her away from this place. I turn away from her, her gaze burning into the side of my face to intently I can almost feel it. "I'm sorry for bringing you here, Ginny. I truly am." I feel something on my hand, and look over to see she has grabbed onto the table and pulled herself onto it, her lame legs dangling off the side as she grabs at my fingers as if I was her last lifeline. "I'm sorry I brought you here. I'm sorry for whatever it is he does. If I could go back and undo it, I would have taken you back to Mungo's." I pull my hand away from hers and take a step out of her reach. "But I can't go back. And I'm not in the business of saving people anymore."

Her sobs follow me from the room as I walk up the stairs and push open the door to what was once my childhood room. I hear Bill rush into the room and scoop her up, gently reprimanding her for having crawled off of the couch as he sits her up. Something about her cries seems to die in her throat and the most horrid sound or resignation raced up the stairs and rushed toward the open door and bowled into me before I could secure the door behind me. My hands shake and my knees collapse.

"Hello Harry."

* * *

"Fred."

"George, actually. Fred's asleep. Which is why I am glad you're here right now." The calm tone of voice in which "George" spoke unnerved me. He still had yet to heal, and speaking at all must have been amazingly painful given the stretching and pulling on the scar-tissue on his cheek that I could see as his mouth moved. Bill never was especially good at first-aid, and the stitching job was sloppy.

"…George?" My face must read what I think, as he laughs, which makes me wince as some of the stitching pops and blood begins to inch down the side of his face. And yet he still laughs heartily. "It's better if you don't ask, Harry. I know it's crazy. But I do need to ask you to do something else."

"What can I do to help you…Fred…whatever, what exactly can _I_ do?"

"I want you to kill us."

* * *

I left with a lot of answers, a good amount of information that I needed, and a tremor lancing up my arms into my chest. The smiling face of the man looking up at me as I choked him to death was so morbidly cheerful that I am sure it's scarred me for the rest of my life. He mouthed "Thank you" to me, which made it worse. So much worse.

"Harry! Would you like to stay for dinner? I'm planning to make…"

"I just strangled your brother to death, William. So no, I don't think I'll be staying for dinner." His voice caught and I could see the color draining from his face. He goes pale and then suddenly the color snaps back and his entire face went red, as well as his nearly hairless head.

He races up the stairs as I head toward the door, glancing down at Ginny one last time. "I'm sorry, Ginny. Goodbye."

It begins to worry me that, the further I get away from the property, the more I begin to realize that I'm not nearly as sorry as I should be right now. The tragedy of Ginny Weasley has begun to deteriorate in my mind, and all I can see is a literal personification of Wizarding England. A crippled, broken, scared little girl who is at the same time too scared and too prideful to get herself help.

A part of me still aches to help those who need help. Longs to find those who lay, beaten by life, dust them off and pull them to their feet. But in a country filled with as many people who are battered and broken as people who have left them that way, I simply can't find the time.

"Potter." I stop in the middle of walking as I hear a voice call out to me. A voice I should not be hearing, because no one should be anywhere near me right now. Someone followed me. This is bad, very bad.

Turning around, I see a face I haven't seen in ages. "…Cormac?"

"Yes, Potter. And I have come to take you in."

"On who's authority, exactly? As far as I know, Susan won't be having anyone coming anywhere near me, and _especially_ wouldn't allow anyone to be tailing me, here of all places. Narcissa isn't this fucking stupid, and Zabini and those damned Unspeakables would know to leave me to what I have to do."

"Would we? Are you sure? Because as far as I know, I was sent here to make sure that you weren't shirking out on our little _deal." _…McLaggen is a fucking Unspeakable? Wow, these groups really are just recruiting anyone. "Now, I'd like to know exactly what you have been up to, Potter. Hiding in the shadows is pretty tiring, I must say. No idea how the others do this all the time, it's just not for me. As such, I've decided that; wherever you go to next, I'll just go with you.

"No."

"Yes, Potter. Because I will be damned if you decide to flee on my watch."

"What would I be fleeing from, exactly?" Cormac was never that bright. He stares at me for a long moment, before blinking several times and looking away from me, clearly flustered.

"Just…Just stop asking questions, Harry. Easier if you don't fight so much and just come along. I've had a long day already, and the higher ups will have my in front of a discharging committee sooner than I can blink if there's any sign of you running off." I almost feel bad for the man, as he gazes down at the street in what I can only guess is some form of fear. "My career is on the line with you, Potter."

"Wow…that's really bad luck for you."

"Yes, yes it is. But I've had enough of your talking. You know, I've been in charge of tracking you for over a year now. Low-rung work that no one else wanted, because no one else cared. I was made to try and chase after your, getting any information I could. Do you know how fucking _annoyingly random _you are? How bloody infuriating it is that any schedule you have is deviated from the minute I get the rhythm to it?

"It was all I could to to get my superiors to not terminate me after over nine months of having little more information than "He seems to beat the hell out of people in the middle of the street after they come hunting for him. And then he leaves." His wand raises and points directly at my heart, as it takes several paces toward me. "I will _not _be held responsible for more failure because of you, Potter. I have had _quite _enough of that. Now, get your things, and get yourself-" There is a dull pulse sound, like someone kicking the bottom of a bass drum, and just like that, Cormac McLaggen no longer stood in front of me. No, instead, Cormac McLaggen laid in pieces down the street, his head rolling to a stop against the curb of a house almost a block down.

Hazel eyes watch me intently from the shadows nearby when I look to where the spell had come from. "…Romilda?" A bright, wicked smile becomes visible along with those eyes, and I can't help but become decidedly disturbed by it. But no more disturbed than the fact that I am apparently being followed by Romilda Vane. Again. But this time, not because it's her. But because she appears to be indiscriminately blowing people the fuck up.

At least it was only McLaggen. If she hadn't, I might have. And, if anything, the world's a better place without him.

* * *

I can't suppress the sigh as I stand in front of one place I had vowed to not return to. Bad memories flood the surface as I walk toward the door, and my hand is shaking as I reach for the door knocker. However, before I can even knock, the door is opened, and a woman with dark hair, an olive complexion, and the most striking jade eyes I have ever seen in my life stands before me. Her eyes are alert but her gaze is warm as she greets me, wrapping her arms around me in a friendly embrace, likely to conceal her shock. "Harry!"

"Hey Tonks."

* * *

Sitting on the back steps of this place again brings back terrible memories. I remember my childhood here, and hating it so much. First, dreaming of running away and never coming back. Hording pocket money behind the rose bush, storing it in a plastic package from one of Dudley's old toys, dreaming of the day I could leave and never come back.

Then, getting my wish and disappearing off into a whole different world. The days Privet Drive grew larger from the backseat of Vernon's regularly changing company car seemed to be worse than any I could remember. And every summer, as I was driven away from them, I was thankful.

I remember feeling drunk when I wandered into the backyard of a lifeless Number 4 after the Ambient Loss. Digging through the limp, grayed stems of the wilted, dark flowers, and finding that plastic container and tearing into it like a dying man who has just found water. The money I found there, I lived on for the hardest week of my life to that point. Sleeping under the awning in the back of the house, shaking, confused and sick with myself for being so thankful to be back in a place I hated so much. The day I left, I never wanted to return, because I could not stand the idea that I was coming to appreciate the place, if nothing more than the basic beauty in the silence of it all.

And here I sit.

The backyard is…nice. Tonks has been working at it, trimming the overgrowth and cleaning the area around the large tree the stands in the center of the backyard. It's a nice enough tree, but propped against the trunk, facing where I sit, is what I came for.

Digging her grave almost killed the tree. Considering the hole was created from a few overpowered _Blasting Charms_, I'm surprised more damage wasn't done. But the tree, like many things in life, recovered from the trauma I did to it. I envy that tree, in a lot of ways.

When she died, I brought her here, probably out of the same instinct that led me here the night I came to, with the world around me changed. Something about Number 4 seems to act as a lighthouse, a beacon to me when things don't make sense. I sat outside of the back door, painted with her blood, trying to see through the tears clouding my eyes and her hair in my face. I clutched her to me for what I suspect was hours before laying her down and attempting to dig her grave by hand. After the roots of the tree impeded me almost mockingly, I began to fire spells, and I didn't stop until there was a hole big enough to place her in.

I covered her in the sheets from the bed I slept in when I lived at Number 4. It only seemed fitting. And I slept on the grave I had made for her that night, rain and cold be damned. Even now, I know I shouldn't have. Luna would have hated my reaction to it all, had she seen it. But I think, after this long, she'd be proud of me.

"Least…I hope you'd be, Lu." I hear Tonks coming before I see her, and I can feel her, even before I can hear her footsteps. "Over here, Tonks, it's ok."

"I'm…I'm sorry to interrupt you, Harry, I didn't mean to, I just heard you talking."

"It's alright. I could…I think I could use the company." She comes and sits next to me, and I can't help but be reminded of the last time we sat next to each other, outside of Gringotts. It feels like so much has changed since then. Seems like it's been years.

The silence drags on, before I look over to her. She's fiddling with her hands, dragging her right index finger and thumb down her left hand, finger by finger, the skin lightening back to her normal complexion. She held her hand up, much paler than the rest of her skin, and seemed to marvel for a moment at her own ability, before she repeated the process and her hand once more darkened to match the appearance she had greeted me with.

She carried on back and forth, sometimes designs of pale skin along her arms before tracing them back. It was really enthralling to watch, and as such, her voice caught me somewhat by surprise. "Harry, are you alright?"

Wow…that's a loaded question. "As alright as I think I can be." She looks at me and raises her eyebrow, and I can tell she won't let that be the end of what I say. "There's something both distressing and calming about being here. Calming because…it's Luna. That was what she is…_was _to me. Calming. Distressing because…she's down there, buried, dead. I…I won't get to see her again. Won't get to see those abnormally large eyes of hers as they take in the world around her. Won't get to have her sit and listen, and then speak something so profound and so stupid.

"Sometimes I miss her most in situations she's not at all involved in. I think I have memories that I tie her to just so, when I think back on them, I have an excuse to think about her. Hell, she's buried here, of all places, so now even my childhood memories have her attached. And it's crazy because, by the end of it all, I could barely _stand_ her." Tonks' hand reaches out toward my arm, and I shift away from it. She pulls back as if burned, and a pang of regret hits me, but it's lost in the sea of emotions crashing through me as I realize that I am still talking.

"Fuck, I feel like scum because I'm sat here, acknowledging the fact that, at some point, the thought that I _hated her_ actually entered my brain! I feel like a fucking hypocrite. And the part that makes me feel worse is, I never got to apologize to her. I _know _she never knew, but I…" I don't realize I'm moving until I'm kneeling atop her grave again, after such a long time. The dirt is tough and compacted, and it doesn't feel like it's been long enough since I pushed the dirt over her body by hand. Not long enough at all.

"I don't know how to help you, Harry. If there was something I could do, I would, but…frankly, I've never seen you like this. I can't help but assume in the middle of me trying to comfort you, you'll pull your wand and blow up the entire yard." She has a point, considering that's about what I did the last time I felt like this. "In truth, I'd feel better if you did. You're…unnerving me. So… stop bawling already, Potter. You're scaring the dying girl."

I look over to Tonks and see this disturbed look on her face. Her hair is lighter than it was before, and her eyes a blue that they hadn't been. She's fighting it, but her body's natural inclination at this point is toward attempting to comfort me by doing exactly what I was praying she wouldn't do. I'm thankful she doesn't. I couldn't handle seeing Luna's face right now. As much as I want to…need to see her one more time, I can't.

"I shouldn't stay much longer, Tonks. I have way too many people following me lately, and if there's one place I don't want to lead them, it's here."

"Oh, I don't think that will be much of a problem."

"Why's that?"

"Well, you appear to have picked up a tail that is going out of her way to keep other people from following you."

I can't prevent the sigh, and I turn and sit down, leaning my back against the tree and picking at the ground between my feet. The earth feels the same as it did when I was younger, ignoring the fact that there is a person buried within. "Let me guess. Thin, hazel eyes, utterly batshit insane?" Tonks nods, a smile on her lips. "Then that'd be Romilda."

"So that's her name? Always known you to travel alone, Harry. Didn't realize you had picked up your own attack dog."

"Not really by choice. She just showed up today. Blew McLaggen's body down the fucking street in pieces. I really think she has some problems."

"Then either ditch her or kill her. Not like you want someone unrepentantly violent with no morals wandering around with you. I mean, why would you want to travel with another version of yourself?" The light tone she makes her jab at me takes any sting out of her words, but I am still aware of the fact that she isn't lying when she says that.

"Yeah, damn those kind of people…never know when they might turn on you, eh?"

"Harry, that's not what I meant, I-" I cut her off before she can get a full head of steam attempting to backpedal. I know what she said, and I know what she meant, and that they aren't exactly the same. But I don't blame her for it, and I don't mind, much.

"It's fine, Tonks, really." She doesn't look reassured, and she shouldn't, but she's at least not so defensive. "I…I don't say this much, but I _trust_ Romilda. I think I trust her because I don't have unreal expectations for her. I don't expect her to keep her hands clean, and I don't expect her to be sane. I don't really expect _anything_ from her, really. But if there's anything I can trust her to do, its protect me. If there is one thing I could say I expected from Romilda, it's her willingness to keep me safe…well, relatively safe, given the potential for her definition of safe not exactly meshing with mine. Her devotion to me seems so all-encompassing, she would do anything to protect me. In a way, she's obsessive. And that's what makes me not worried."

"So…sounds like someone has their own Lestrange."

"…You know, it _does_ sound like that. Creepy." There's a less…heavy silence that falls between us for a while, before I begin to pull myself up to standing. "If there was a time for her to show up, I am glad it's now."

"Why's that? What could possibly be going on in Harry's World that is more dangerous than every _other_ day involving people out to kill him and him constantly ducking the law?"

"You mean _besides_ your old colleagues being out after me?" The jovial look that had been on her face during her little ribbing of me and over the idea of me having a person Bellatrix was wiped away immediately. If there's something that could be said about Nymphadora Tonks, its that she's always lived her life connected to the action.

"…which group?"

"The ones you were working for when you met me in that bar."

"Oh _shit._" Leave it to Tonks to always be so eloquent.

"Indeed. And considering everything, they'll soon be after me about as intently as Narcissa's precious little sanctioned Murder Squad, so if there was a time where I could use Miss Crazy out there, it'd be now."

"Narcissa's Murder Squad?"

Oops. "Oh…I guess I didn't mention the fact that I pissed her off also, did I?" Tonks' eyes narrow, and I become suddenly aware of the time that has passed since I arrived. "I should go. It was good to see you, Tonks, and thank you for the company…and letting me come see her."

She gives me a funny look, before standing up and brushing her pants off. "It's your house, Harry. Not like I could keep you out." She smiles at me as I walk toward her and hug her. It's an odd feeling, hugging another person with no motive, but there's something more comforting to it than anything else Tonks could have done, at the moment. "Hell, even if it _wasn't _your house, I don't think I could keep you out. Though, I think you might want to get out of here. I know the Unspeakables, and they don't really make it a business to give up." I nod and go to step away to have her stay holding on, squeezing tightly. "And take Romitrix out there with you. She creeps me out."

"But…she creeps me out too."

* * *

Romilda is leaning against the wall outside of the door I walked into when I come around the side. She has a mug in her hand that she seems to be peering into warily between sips, and her wand is held in her other hand, sweeping back and forth as if scanning the perimeter on its own accord. "She makes good coffee."

"Does she? I wouldn't know, I never got offered a cup."

"It's good enough." She turns her eyes toward me, and I'm hit by how…piercing her eyes can be. "Are we killing her? If we are, I'd like to get the recipe for this." She tilts her head to the side and looks me up and down, her eyes lingering on the dirt that has to be all over my pants. "Unless you killed her already…Without me Harry? That's not very nice of you."

Romilda Vane is pouting.

Pouting over potentially not being included in killing someone she doesn't even know.

Tonks was right, she is _fucking_ _creepy_.

"She's fine, Romilda, we won't be killing her. Come on, we have places to go and time is of the essence."

"I get to go?" There's a childish joy in this that only serves to make me very much rethink my decision to take her along. Instead of going with my first - and second - instinct, I just nod.

This is going to come back to bite me in the ass.

* * *

Blaise Zabini is not someone I trust. In fact, I really don't like him as a person. There's a sliminess to him that rubs me the wrong way, and I can't help but be under the impression that he is hiding a lot from me. But, everyone is hiding something these days. It's the only way to survive anymore.

"Ah, Harry! Good of you to show up only…three hours late!" He stands before me dressed crisply and looking quite pleased with himself. The smile on his face is eating at me the longer I'm forced to look at it. "Well, I'm sure something came up in that _exciting_ life of yours, so, no harm – no foul."

"Zabini, I'd-"

"Please, Harry, call me Blaise! We'll be working together for quite some time, and I think it only fitting that we establish something of a working friendship, if you will-"

"_Zabini_." He finally stops his speaking and looks at me. "Let me make a few things clear. I do not like you. I will not call you by your first name. I will most certainly not be establishing some 'working friendship' with you, because I will not be _working _with you." The smile on his face slides away to a look of confusion that I can't help but find pleasure in. For a member of an organization that does everything it can to know anything of importance, his lack of understanding is a rare treat for me.

"I don't understand, Harry."

I can't stop the laughter that wells up in my chest, and if I could, I wouldn't have wanted to. "Of course you don't." Footsteps echo behind me, and I glance back to see Romilda holding a smaller woman at wand-point. I don't recognize her from the glimpse I have under her hood, but given the look on Zabini's face, he does. "Friend of yours?"

"What is the meaning of this, Harry? Who is this woman, and why is she holding a wand to my partner?"

"Whoever _this_ was," Romilda began, kicking the shorter woman in the back of her knees and sending her sprawling onto the ground, "She was standing in the shadows over there, keeping her wand trained on Harry. Now, I don't blame her, considering I had my wand trained on _you_. But…no one aims their wand at my Harry. No one." I'm no one's Harry, but I knew having her around would pay off. I didn't even notice whoever this woman is, watching me, and probably wouldn't have until she decided to attempt to fire some kind of spell at me.

"She's my partner. Here, put your wand on me, not on her." The desperation in Blaise's voice isn't that of someone protecting a partner or a friend. It's that of someone scared for someone close to them. A sibling or...

"Not just your partner though, is it?" Seems Romilda picked up on it as well, maybe before I did given the sly look she's had on her face since she brought the woman out. "But if you want my wand on you, and not on her, so be it." And just like that, Blaise was staring down the end of Romilda's wand. Romilda, for her part, put her foot on the back of the woman on the ground before her, and held her there.

It's nice to not have to be my own enforcer for once.

"Well Zabini…here's what's going to happen. I will not be going with you. I won't be saying goodbye to everyone I know, and letting your all spirit me off to whatever facility you're using this week, to do whatever it is you intend to do with me. Whether or not I am the solution to the Hogwarts 'problem', I don't think I have any desire to see it resolved."

"But what about all the people you could save, Potter! You can't just walk away from it!"

"I can, and I will. I've done it before. I don't think I have any desire to let you all use me as some kind of guinea pig to test you theories on. No thank you."

"You don't have that right!" Blaise is getting angry. Despite the fact that he has Romilda's wand trained on him, and mine as well, though he doesn't realize it, he has begun to get irate. The fact that his partner, and possibly lover, is currently face-down on the street with Romilda taking odd joy in grinding her heel into the woman's back, probably isn't helping his calmness, either.

"Calm down, Zabini. I'm warning you…"

"Who the _fuck _are you to warn me about anything, you selfish bastard? You could hold the key to fixing our entire society, and you won't do anything about it. Who the hell do you think you are to deny our people a second chance?"

"Who am I? I'm the one you need for your little supposed _solution_, Zabini. Consider this: you say I'm the hope for a second chance, right? Fuck the notion of a second chance for any of you. What have you done to _deserve_ one?" His eyes are enraged, and he's all but shaking. People do stupid things when they are this angry, and given Romilda's feelings on killing people, this won't end well for him unless he's calmed down. "Romilda, let her up.

"If either of you try anything, you both die. As it is, run along. I won't be working with, or for, you. If you go after anyone I was previously associated with, you won't like the outcome. As it is, I have distanced myself from them, so don't think to go to any of them for my whereabouts." Romilda lifts her foot from the woman, who's first order of business is adjusting her hood and then scampering toward Blaise. She makes it about a step before Romilda kicks her squarely in the ass. She stumbles, but he rushes forward and catches her before she can fall. She all but sinks into his chest as they walk away, her face buried in his shoulder.

Something about her reminds me of someone I know, but I can't place it. They shuffle away, Blaise constantly looking back and glancing between me and Romilda. Said woman has walked to stand just behind and to the side of me. It hasn't even been a day, and I'm already glad I decided to bring her along.

…

"Romilda?"

"Hmm?"

"Please stop…nuzzling me."

"Was I? Sorry. Tense situations do that to me."

She steps around me, brushing against my arm before walking forward, her stride purposeful and without a hint of the odd, almost childishness she'd just displayed. Shaking my head, I follow her, and find her gait slowed just enough that I've soon fallen in stride with her. "So, back home I take it?"

"As good a place as any, I guess." And as we walk, I can't help but try and rack my brain for why that woman Romilda had roughed up seems so familiar to me, and why the thought of home seems to make something itch in the back of my mind, as if I should be remembering something I'm not.

"Romilda?"

"Harry?"

"Please stop playing with my hair."

"…Sorry. Habit."

I don't even bother wondering how something she's done for the first time is considered a habit. I've already found that, when dealing with Romilda, it's better to just not ask questions.

* * *

There are some things I never actually expect to see when I come back home to Gringotts. One of those things is Pansy Parkinson.

I have made it a point to not actually expressly say where I live when I talk to her. She's never actually asked me straight up, and I've never felt the desire to tell her. So seeing her sitting on the stairs outside of the marble goliath that I had called my place of residence was a bit of a shock. The fact that she skipped passed looking at me and her eyes locked right on Romilda was something else entirely.

Oh shit.

"Harry…who the hell is this?"

"This is…"

"I, _Parkinson_, am Romilda Vane. Simply a _pleasure_." The saccharinely sweet tone to Romilda's voice almost makes her greeting of Pansy seem threatening. Pansy's visibly taken aback, and I'm relieved of the awkward feeling of the meeting, as a more…dangerous tone settles over it. I have no doubt in my mind that Romilda can and would kill Pansy. But that's not what I want. And because that's not what I want, I really should make sure that boundaries are established.

"Ladies…"

"Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to frighten her." Romilda's sudden shift into being what could only be called docile knocks _me_ off-balance this time. "Let's start over. It really is nice to meet you, Pansy. Harry talks about you all the time."

What the fuck. I do? …When?

I glance over to Pansy to see that she has turned away from us, presenting her profile to us both as she tried to hide as much of the blush spread across her face as possible.

Romilda leans into me, her warm breath across my neck. "Um…Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"You know her better than I, and I don't want to like…make you mad or anything, but…" Her tentativeness is almost cute, if it wasn't for the fact that it clashed with everything I knew about her up to this point. Seems like some kind of game, but I can't be sure.

"Out with it, then."

"…Is she ok? She looks like she has a rash."

Funny how one sentence can completely change how you think about someone.

After a few moments of both of us staring at Pansy, the latter gains her composure and gives me this pleading look, basically begging me to go back to her house. She doesn't feel comfortable outside of it, and has been sat outside of the bank-turned-fortress for an indeterminate amount of time. She looks fidgety, but I can't help but realize how terrible an idea it is, to have Romilda and Pansy in an enclosed space together.

On the same note, Pansy has made it clear that she has no intention of going into the bank, and will sit out here in the open until I come with her, or someone stumbles on us. Someone's in quite a mood.

So all I can do is follow, and expect the worst, as Romilda glares holes in Pansy's back, and Pansy does her best to sway her hips on relatively unsteady legs as she walks in front of me. Given the effort she is going through, I think it only polite to look, lest she have done it for naught.

* * *

At some point, I lost control of this situation.

Pansy has been sitting in the kitchen glaring angrily at the oven for the last 20 minutes, while Romilda nurses a cup of tea while staring at me over the top of it. She hasn't said a word, and has sat there, looking intently at me as if waiting for me to say something. Only…I don't have anything to say.

"When do you plan on fixing everything, Harry?" Her voice startles me. There's no judgment in it, and no eccentric or hyper; borderline psychotic, tone to her voice. She's just asking.

"I don't know if I plan to at all, Romilda." She locks her eyes on me and tilts her head to the side. Her dark hair shifts and tumbles down her shoulder, and I can feel her eyes burning into me as I watch her. It's amazing to consider the insanity that her eyes…

"You will, Harry." Her words aren't a command. They're simply stating a fact. Like she's aware of my intention to do something when I myself am not. "You don't want to, and I don't want you to…but it's who you are. You fix things. Even when you destroy something, you still have this natural affinity toward fixing things." Her words hit me hard, and I'm ready to argue with her when she stands and crosses the distance between her. Her knees dig into the cushion of the overstuffed chair that I sit on, and I find her all but straddling me, sitting on my knees and looking down at me with an amused look on her face.

"Whether it's you returning the ambient magic to the UK, or you finding some way to get every bitchy, sobbing witch and wizard off of this island, you'll find your solution. And I'll be right there with you. I just ask one thing of you." Her hazel eyes seem to be burning, and I can't help but try and force my mind to create the urge to throw her off of me. This is a woman I saw actually remove the top of someone's head with a curse, and then kick the severed portion of the skull down a hallway like a ball. I watched her kill a man today for no actual reason, albeit I saw little fault in it. I shouldn't feel safe around her. And yet, I do. "Promise you'll at least try for me, Harry?"

"What should I promise you, Romilda?"

Something seemed to shift in her eyes as she slides her body down, going from sitting on my knees to sitting in my lap. "Try not to fix me too much, Harry. I like being broken, even just a little bit." And before I can stop her, Romilda once again, licks my face. I push her away part way through, and she grins down at me, wickedly. I hold her just a bit away from me, and she stares at me. Her eyes are intense, a hazel color that I have seen dance with the light of insanity, glare intently as someone attempted to threatened me, and seem utterly – almost childishly – joyful. But her look right now is something else entirely.

Her eyes dart above my head quickly, and before I can even attempt to follow them, I feel her lips on mine. Her kiss is insistent, almost demanding. But at the same time, it feels like her lips are always just a bit further away than they needed to be. The slight distance practically demanded that I attempt to close it, and even as I move more into her, she pulls back more. By the time I catch her, I become very aware of a feeling I had been ignoring in my attempts to reach her.

I would pull away, but the moment I caught her, Romilda had all but grabbed the back of my head. As such, I am forced to come to terms with a fact of life. Talking while your lips are still against another person's is an odd feeling. "Pansy?" I grow worried immediately when the girl's silence is almost deafening.

"Dinner will be ready in an hour." Pansy says, her voice making it clear that she had her teeth clenched tightly and probably had her jaw set, as she tends to do when she is put out about something. Needless to say, I see that face more often than not.

Romilda pulls her head back and looks up at Pansy with a sickeningly sweet smile on her face, still holding my head tightly. "What are we having?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're having, whore, but Harry and I are having dinner in an hour. Don't be here." I can honestly say I have never heard Pansy's voice so cold before. Today just keeps getting fucking worse.

Pansy trudges off and moments later, Romilda gets up. Sighing, I close my eyes and try to clear my head. The silence and calm I force on myself lasts all of a few lingering seconds before I hear Pansy screech in shock, and the sound of what could only be a body hitting the ground.

Worse, and worse.


	13. Chapter 13

From what I was able to make of the incident upon breaking it up, Romilda had had Pansy sat with her back to the door and had a handful of the once-Slytherin girl's hair. The pounding of Pansy's head against the door had sounded like exuberant knocking. My attempts to get into the room proved more hurtful than helpful, as I pushed the door open right into one of Romilda's slams, sending Pansy bouncing off of the door and into a heap in front of it.

Romilda's eyes are alight as I enter, her face sitting in that middle space between utter joy and complete psychosis that looks perfectly natural on her. Pansy, for her part, is curled up in a fetal position and looking like she's barely conscious. The latter part is likely my fault, given my charge into the room. Seeing Pansy less than in complete control sends me down a path of memories, back to when I had first come to be taking care of her. Despite what she wants people to see, she's delicate, awkwardly so.

"Romilda, let her go. Please." Before 'please' even fully leaves my mouth, Romilda's hand has begun attempting to untangle itself from Pansy's hair. I was expecting another of Romilda's docile stages, when she grabs her wand and pushes Pansy's head to the ground in a way that was more protective than anything else.

"Oh _Harry…_Where are you?" Well _there_ is a voice I hoped to never hear from again, and yet knew would show up anyway.

Daphne Greengrass.

The entire plane ride back from my confrontation with Hermione, I had read into her journals, looking for any information that might be there. I found nothing. Not a mention. Which was a huge red flag. The utter lack of mention was suspicious. Deeply so.

When I got back here, I went searching. And was again confronted with the realization of the utter lack of information. Something about the lack of any kind of information stirs a worry in me.

"No one's home!" I shout, reaching for my wand and inching to the side so I can be behind the door. The minute I move, however, Romilda is moving as well. She moves to the opposite side of the door from me, and pulls it open slightly.

Daphne's voice rings out again, "Harry…I know you're here. I don't know why you're hiding though." She has this playful lilt to her voice that has the hairs on the back of my neck on edge as I am confronted with the level of distrust that has arisen in me from seemingly nowhere. "You and Pansy doing something you shouldn't be, perhaps? …Or maybe you're just playing hard to get. Is that it, Harry?" There is mirth in her voice that has my stomach aching as I try to decide what spell I want to use on her first.

Her voice moves closer and closer, and soon she is clearly right outside of the door. Romilda pulls the door closed just enough that Daphne shouldn't be able to see in, and then she slips over to my side of the wall, behind the door. Romilda's body presses back into mine, forcing my back somewhat painfully against the wall. Her voice is a whisper, as she asks me to say something, before motioning her head toward the door, and Daphne on the other side.

"Come get me, Daphne…" I try and find a measure of playfulness to add to my voice, and realize I fail terribly at it. Romilda looks back at me as she drags her right arm up my right leg, onto my arm, and then pulls it up so my wand is pointed at the door. There is that glint in Romilda's eye that reminds of the insanity this woman is so gripped by, and I am, once more, reminded of how happy I am to have that insanity directed away from me.

Almost before I can register the woman's wand and arm as they enter the room first, Romilda braces her back against my front and kicks the door _hard_, slamming it onto Daphne's hand with a loud crack that removes any doubt that Daphne's wand arm is broken.

The door springs open after impacting Daphne's arm, and as I start to move from behind Romilda to swing around and face Daphne, Pansy jumps up from the floor. I make it around the door just in time to see her tackle Daphne to the ground. Pansy is able to get up as Daphne holds her broken right forearm with her left hand, and without even stepping back from the injured girl, Pansy starts to kick her in the side.

Around the fifth kick, I become aware that Pansy's aim has slipped as Daphne curls into a ball. The downed girl's head whips back a few times, and around kick number eight, I finally speak. "Pansy, please stop kicking Daphne in the face, she's unconscious already. Besides, you've gotten blood on your slippers."

* * *

We lift Daphne up, sit her in the chair and bind her to it. Pansy continues glaring, though I am unsure if it is because Daphne is seated there, or because it's the chair I had been sitting in when she walked in on Romilda and me. My personal pride all but demands that I assume it is the latter, but considering that she seems to preen between bouts of glaring, leads me to believe that she just really wanted to beat on Daphne. A part of me wonders why, but the rest of me mocks that part for not realizing the answer.

I'll never understand women in particular, but I do understand people well enough to recognize why Pansy takes such joy in her assault on Daphne. Because Pansy couldn't assault Romilda. Ah…the circle of life. Or…the circle of displacement. Much in the same way that I took my anger at Fred out on Ginny while she laid in the bag, Pansy took her anger at Romilda out on Daphne.

Oh Pansy, I'm so proud of you.

…It's not until a few moments of very awkward silence have passed, that I realize that I said that out loud. Romilda has arched one of her thin eyebrows at me while playing with her hair, and Pansy looks about fit to break into a huge grin. And…Daphne looks barely conscious, bloody, and quite confused.

"Wha?"

"Good morning, Daphne! How are you doing! You know…besides the broken face. Pansy's sorry about that. Oh…and the broken arm. Romilda's…" I glance over at Romilda and sigh. "I can't even lie about that one. Romilda doesn't give a damn."

Daphne's scowl is just so cute. And by cute, I mean it makes me laugh at the utter lack of severity behind it. I suspect it's a result of the pain. I just want to pinch her little cheek at how nonthreatening it is. Or perhaps because I've just been on the receiving end of a lot of glares with vastly more conviction, and this one doesn't even begin to approach those. Hell, Romilda's basic expression has more intensity to it than Daphne's glare does right now.

"Now Daphne, you have some things to answer to. Like why it is that you decided to come in here with your wand drawn, looking for me. I mean, I know why my view of you has changed recently, but I can't quite get why you'd go from all but gyrating your hips at the mere mention of me, to wanting to kill me."

"I did _no_ such thing!" She's seething, but her attempting to look threatening and angry is defeated, once more, by her utter vulnerability. That, and she and I both know, there was definitely gyration. "And let me out of this goddamned chair!"

"Harry…she's yelling. Can I make her stop?" Movement passed the window catches my eye as Romilda asks, and I nod idly. Something isn't right, and the kind of movement I noticed wasn't the kind of moving around I'd expect at this time of night. It wasn't a neighbor walking their pet, or going for one of those obnoxious jogs in the middle of the night in their fluorescent windbreakers. This was movement across cover.

I glance over at a screech from Daphne, just in time to see Romilda bludgeon the restrained girl in the face with a throw pillow from the couch. I quickly look away, as I notice movement again, and I catch someone scurrying behind the gate to the house across the street. I grip my wand and sit down on the floor with my back to the wall under the window. Romilda's eyes snap toward me, and then to the window, before she sinks to the floor and crawls toward me.

There is a smile in her eyes that makes me completely sure that she knows just how sexily she's doing this. It's an awful time for her games, but I can't take my eyes off of her until she is sat directly in front of me. I only look away because I notice Daphne's head slumped forward, making it quite evident that she is unconscious. Romilda shifts to the side and glances back at her handiwork, before she lifts the pillow she had hit Daphne with, and pulls her shoe out of it and puts it back on.

"I figured you'd be more allowing of me hitting her with my shoe, if you didn't know I was doing it until after." She's right. Even now, I don't know if I like her methods.

Oh well, what's done is done.

Romilda continues her slow, eye-catching crawl toward me, and she stops inches from my face. She literally climbs up my body to look out of the window above my head, her stomach pressed against my face and her left knee digging into my chest. When she has finished looking, she slips back down, removing her knee from my chest and planting it on my side.

Her head is down, her long, dark hair tumbling over her shoulders and blocking her face from view. When she lifts her head back up, her face is only slightly visible through what could only be called a veil of her hair. I can feel her breath on my face. She has her lip caught between her teeth. And her eyes; aglow with that damned inner light I have associated with her…mental detachment, are staring straight into mine.

Oh look. Insane Romilda is back. Yay.

"Twenty, at _least_. Not Elite Guard, but if this is a sanctioned attack, then at least one of them is around here, observing." Yes. Insane Romilda is back. And apparently, not a moment too soon.

"Only twenty? I'm insulted." She stares at me after I speak, and cocks her head to the side. There is silenced for a long moment, and then she is laughing. It is a thick, throaty laugh that is all at once, uncomfortable, sexy, and scary. She taps me on the nose with one of her fingers, before sidling up against me again and looking out of the window once more.

"Don't be, Harry. There are so few, because she just wants you to know she knows where you are. She's trying to scare you. But if I know you, Harry, you don't get scared." Her voice dips an octave as she speaks the final few words. There is a faith in them, and at the same time, almost an…expectation.

I reach up and wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her down. She plops down on my lap, her eyes wide but playful. "You're right. I don't." A grin slides up her lips, and I follow it with my eyes. "Now, how about we go show Narcissa just why she shouldn't be attempting to scare me?" Romilda doesn't needs words to show me she agrees.

"Um. Harry. What in the _fuck_ are the two of you doing on the floor in my goddamned house!" Pansy doesn't sound pleased. It seems she finally pulled herself away from glaring at Daphne while holding the ice pack to her forehead, long enough to come see where Romilda and I had disappeared to. I can only imagine what the situation looks like, with Romilda on my lap and our faces so close together.

I open my mouth to respond, and am saved from having to bother to speak, as the door to the house is flung open and a form comes barreling in, slamming into the wall across from the door. Romilda and I both have our wands trained on him, but he drops to the floor, kicks the door closed, and tossed his wand toward us, his hands up.

"Don't shoot, Potter. I'm unarmed now, and I don't have the time to fight you or convince you that you can trust me. Don't trust me. I don't want you to, but what I do want you to do, is listen." He is panting, but I recognize that voice. Blaise tosses his hood back, and pulls himself up on shaky legs. "Potter, you have-"

"I know. There's a bunch of Defenders outside."

"Yes. And I doubt they'll just be sitting by for much longer, seeing me come in here. I'm sure they'll have people on each exit, prepared to attack if anyone leaves, even me."

"Why's that?"

"Because, they can't have anyone go in and come out. I had my hood up, they couldn't get an ID on me, meaning they can't know if the person who came in with my hood on, is the person leaving with it on. I take it they want someone in this house, likely you, so they can't afford to have anyone leave. And I can't afford to get caught by Narcissa any more than you can."

…What could he have to hide from her? "What could you have to hide, Zabini? All you'd need to do is tell them the office you work for…"

"Dammit, Harry, it doesn't work like that! You of all people should know how she is. If she thinks you have information that she wants, then she won't take 'no' for an answer to her questions. And our organization is about information. There are things kicking around in my head that she can _not_ know. And I don't bloody do well with torture."

His eyes are wild, as he crawls toward his wand, seemingly very wary of the windows. Apparently the overall odd actions of everyone has confused Pansy a great deal, as he eyes are bouncing back and forth between me, Blaise, Romilda, and the window nearest to her. I'm glad that, if there is one thing that Pansy knows, it is that problems tend to show their solutions if you watch long enough. She is vastly more able to just sit back and observe than I am, and I'm sure she is working things out as Blaise and I speak. Saves me time, explaining the severity of the situation.

"Then, if your mind is so goddamned important to keep out of her hands, why the hell would you come here? I'm sure you didn't come just to warn me of an impending attack, considering how we left out last conversation."

"Of course I didn't come to save you, Potter. I came to save _her."_ I look to where his eyes are, and I see Daphne, whose eyes are glued to Blaise. "My _god_, what have you people done to her?"

"Wait." It seems Pansy has finally caught up to the situation, and she feels it is time to interject her own questions. "Why the _hell_ would you risk compromising your information, for her?"

"Because everything I know, she knows. And then some."

…Wait.

My mind runs back to earlier in the day, the last time I had seen Blaise. The woman who had been with him…

"Daphne's a fucking _Unspeakable?_" Even as I basically shout this, pieces slide into place, and it all makes a crazy kind of sense. And suddenly things make a lot of sense. "So…is that why you're on the No Heal list?"

Blaise's eyebrows raise, as do Daphne's. It would appear that they didn't expect me to know that. "…Daphne has…special clearance. Certain information that she has is very sensitive. If anything were to happen to her in the field, she is on the No Heal list because, any time someone on the list is admitted, they are flagged and certain calls are made. It would let us know where she is. It also prevents anyone looking to extract the information from her through use of torture, from employing a licensed healer to keep her alive."

"…But from what I understand, that list is for people who have done some very bad things. You don't just get put on there as a contingency."

Blaise looked at Daphne for a long time, before sighing. "Daphne's initial mission was…not a good one. They trusted her to infiltrate the wrong kinds of places, and with that, came risks. Rumors began flying around about her, of her possibly killing, maiming, torturing people for information. All of this was a cover so we could get her into the right place, get her set up properly.

"She got pulled once proper information was gathered, but those kind of rumors don't just disappear overnight. So, the higher-ups did the best with a bad situation. Those rumors got her on the list, and that list can help keep her alive, and our information protected."

Blaise's story sounds like all different kinds of poorly-concocted bullshit. I don't believe it for a moment, and I take a long look at Daphne. Sitting, so beaten up and bound in that chair, she doesn't look like anything she could do would make her so important. So dangerous. But if there is something I have come to learn about this post-Hogwarts world, it's that looks are _always _deceiving, and the more you trust what people appear to be, the more likely you are to end up dead.

Daphne Greengrass was worth Blaise Zabini risking his life to save. "You know, Zabini, you could have skipped the attempts to craft a lie big enough to make me believe you. I don't believe a word you said, and all of the air you wasted spinning such a half-assed tale, could have been saved." His eyes narrow at me, and Daphne starts to squirm in her chair. "All you had to do, was come in here and tell us that it was worth possibly getting captured, to save your girlfriend." The look on Blaise's face told me all I needed to know.

I realize that Romilda is still sitting on top of me as I go to sever the bindings we had affixed Daphne to the chair with. I roll out from under her, surprised to see her spring to her feet and reach a hand out to help me up. I grin and take her hand, letting her help yank me to my feet. "This is going to get very messy. As you said, they aren't just going to let you waltz out of here. They also, likely, don't have any sort of orders to hold their fire to less than lethal spells. Meaning, if anyone is getting out of here, they have to fight their way out."

I look toward the window again, seeing more movement around the cars parked across the way, as well as the door in the house to the right of the house across the street open and close, despite the lack of lights inside. "They've been watching the house for a while. Running would just mean we can't ever come back. I for one, refuse to lose this place."

Everyone in the room is looking at me intently. I hate doing motivational shit. "I will be goddamned if they think they can win this. If _she _thinks she can just run us off, never mind the fucking skeleton crew of people she's sent to do so. As has been made quite clear to me, I don't fucking do scared. So why don't we go make them regret fucking with my house?"

Romilda brushes past me, rubbing my shoulder with her cheek before walking across the room, peering out of the window closest to the door. I knew I had her support, and if it came down to it, I could expect the crazy girl to be willing to fight until there was no fight left.

"I'll fight. But only long enough to get a lane so we can get out of here. I am all for teaching them a lesson, but this isn't my fight. This isn't my home. Moreover, the longer we stay here, the more time Narcissa has to decide to send more people. If she finds out that either me or Daphne are here, she's not going to let us just wander off."

"Fair enough, Blaise. But if that's the case, I'd say that you should fight for a while, but go out through one of the windows and make a run for it. If Romilda and I are going to make our stand here, better if you aren't running through. No idea who could hit you with what, and as much as you drawing fire away from us would seem like a good thing, it's not. I don't have the time to play medic. Keep your head down and your feet moving. Until then, have good aim, and put them down, and keep them there."

Blaise has his marching orders, and Daphne's been placed in a seat near the door. She can't fight effectively, with her wand arm broken and all, and it seems like a much better idea to just keep her out of the way until Blaise can take her and leave. That just leaves…

"Pansy, I need you to go to your room, get under your bed, and do not move from there unless I come and get you, or Romilda drags you out." Pansy's eyebrow raises, and she opens her mouth to disagree.

"Don't argue with me on this, dammit."

"This is my house too, Harry! I will not lay there in my room like I'm an invalid while you go off and fight my battles for me! I've been there and done that, thank you very much. I've had enough of standing by and letting you run off to play my bloody knight in shining armor. I laid here for _years_ while you fucking saved me, protected me, took care of me.

"I didn't deserve it, and you did it. And now my…no - _our_ - home, is about to be attacked, and you want to sit me in a fucking corner and tell me to put my head down? I'm sorry, Potter, but fuck that, and fuck you. Now get the _hell_ out of my way, I need to go find my fucking wand."

Cute. But now is not the time for self-righteous Pansy to be appearing.

"Listen. Either you go and get under the bed, or I stun you and tie you under it. I don't have time for this, Pansy. I respect your desire to help, but these people will not be fucking around. It's been a long time since I found you on that floor. A long time since you were out there, slinging spells around and being in battles. It's not the same anymore." She locks eyes with me for a long moment, before deflating.

"Be careful out there, Harry." She walked toward me, pressing her cheek against my chest and snaking her arms around my waist. "Please." And then she was gone, the door to her room closing loudly.

I'll do the best I can, Pansy…

I head over toward Romilda, who is leaning against the wall next to the door, staring up at the ceiling. She doesn't look toward me when I get close to her, but I know that she's aware of my arrival.

I can't hold back my sigh as I lean my back against the wall next to her. She shuffles slightly, almost imperceptibly, and I feel her arm press against mine softly. "I have to protect this house, Romilda."

"Nah, you don't." I look over to her, prepared to rebut, until I see that slight smile on her lips again, before "We have to protect it." She pushes herself off of the wall, before turning her body to stand right in front of me, her legs apart so that her feet are on either side of my own. She is right in front of me, her face inches away once more.

Her positioning does make it quite clear to me that Romilda is a fairly tall woman. She is only slightly shorter than I am, and as such, I am confronted with her bright, intense gaze. "You had better not get yourself hurt out there, Potter. If you get yourself killed, I _will_ follow you." …This bitch is insane. I know I should have known this a long time back, but something about the conviction in her eyes goes a long way to make sure I am aware that she isn't lying. "So, how about we go kill some people before it gets too late. In my estimation, we have about 20 minutes until Pansy's dinner is finished."

I go to answer, when the first spell hits the door. It doesn't go through the door, but it does rattle the large door in its frame. Cute. It's like a magical knock, aggressive as it is. "Well, seems like they got tired of waiting. Let's answer the door, shall we?" Romilda nods to answer me, but doesn't move out of the way. She tilts her head to the side, her long hair tumbling to the side, before she leaned toward me.

"Romilda…if you lick my face again, you and I are going to have some words after this." That throaty laugh leaves her lips, before she leans even closer. That uncomfortable feeling spreads through me, though I find myself deeply intrigued by if she is going to heed my words, or ignore them.

She is silent, simply pressed against me, before she speaks in something barely above a whisper. "Looking forward to it. So you'd better survive long enough." There is something…charged, in her tone. She leans back, and I feel like I watch her change in front of my eyes. The insanity reappears, and wipes away the almost coy look that had been in her eyes before.

As…interesting as this gentle, almost sensual Romilda is, if I'm about to go into a deadly fight, I am vastly more comfortable doing that with the insane woman Tonks referred to as Romitrix, at my side.

The door shakes twice in rapid succession. They're getting impatient.

Romilda moves and walks over toward the door, pressing herself against the side of the frame. Blaise looks up from his place of kneeling in front of Daphne, who seems to have either fallen asleep or been put to sleep.

…Shit.

"Blaise, get her away from the door, and then help Romilda and I move the furniture against the walls. If they're serious, they'll fire spells through the walls, and we don't need her taking a curse through the head." We scramble with the furniture, swinging the couch against the wall where the windows were. Fucking stupid, stupid. I'm not used to defending a location, it's foreign to me, but I need my brain working properly, and that was a stupid mistake.

"No. That stays there." Blaise looks at me in confusion, but releases the chair and walks away from it to grab something else from another room. I lift Daphne's unconscious form, and place her back in the chair she had been bound to before, which I had instructed Blaise to leave. The room looked so empty, devoid of any furniture except for that one chair, sat in the middle of the floor.

I grip my wand and square my shoulders. It feels like it's been ages since I've felt like this. Like I had something, other than myself, that I had to protect, to defend. Feels like forever. And entirely too soon.

I move toward the door, which by this point is rattling almost incessantly from the impacts from outside. Impatient indeed. Romilda catches my eye, her pink tongue slightly visible between her lips. Somehow, I think she knows my plan, as the motions toward the door with her eyes. Her hair has been pulled back into a ponytail, and I can't help but be unnerved by how much of her face I can see. Makes her eyes more visible. Makes her _insanity_ more visible.

Hot.

Bracing myself to the opposite side of the doorframe from Romilda, I press the tip of my wand against the door. She does the same, and I count down with my other hand from three. As my last finger goes down, I cast the strongest Banishing Charm that I can. My wand bucks, but I pull it along with me as I swing around the doorway and run along the same side of the house.

One out of cover, at the end of the walkway. He had been casting the spells they'd been using to knock. The door is still moving toward him, the combined force of mine and Romilda's banishers is stronger than his rapid-fire spells, which he continues to fire.

Idiot.

Romilda's _Reducto_ hits the door and sending a hail of splinters and jagged planks of wood toward him. I put a Piercing Charm through both of his knees, and into the pavement beside him. He body pitches forward, right into the path of Romilda's curse.

I have no idea what it is, but it's fucking effective. An invisible force impacts his face and seems to almost send ripples through his skin, before I _see_ the bones in his face collapse.

Blood flies from his mouth, along with a few teeth, and his mouth is open to scream just in time for one of the large planks of sharp wood from the door to impact his already destroyed face.

Oh, she wants to compete, does she? Fine.

The first person I see come around the car across the way was a sandy-haired woman. She blasts off a pair of spiraling violet hexes, which miss me entirely, though they dig into the side of the house, burning the outside of the building as well as puncturing quite a ways into the wall. Even as I observe the effects of her near-miss, my Cutting Curse is streaming toward her. My aim is slightly off, but the spell still sends her tumbling to the ground bleeding profusely from her hip. More spells begin to fly as the others begin to cast, and I have no cover to get behind.

Slamming my wand straight down, a light blue V-shaped shield unfolds in front of me, and sinks into the ground. Not a moment too soon, either, as spells glance off of the shield and bury into the wall on either side of me.

The shield starts to dim, and I roll out from behind it, a spell burying into the grass inches from my hand. The man closest to me loses the use of his wand hand, as my Cannonball Hex blasts the back end of his wand through his hand.

Stumbling to my feet, I start to run when a feeling like a bag of potatoes shot out of a cannon hits my chest. Stars dance in my vision as I bounce off of the wall of the house and onto my back. Fragments of brick rain down on my face as a mass of spells that had been aimed for me hit the wall instead.

There is a veritable fucking firing squad across the way from me, and without any cover, they are all just firing whatever and hoping one of the spells hits me. Slashing my wand down again and creating another V-shaped shield, I hide behind it, using it to get to my feet again.

Panting breaths feel like breathing fire, and it feels like warm honey is running down the side of my face.

I sprint from behind the shield and dive behind the hedges that curve at the edge of the property. "_Duro!" _It won't last long, but the hardening spell makes the plants at least as capable of keeping out spell-fire as anything I'd be able to conjure at the moment.

Peeking over the rock-hard shrubbery, I see the group that had been firing on me standing behind a neighbor's large black SUV. He had been especially proud when he brought the thing, and showed it off constantly by leaving it on the street.

Shame I have to blow it up.

"_Defodio! Expulso!" _The Gouging Spell burrows a hole into the side of the car, and the _Explosion_ _Spell_ follows it through.

"_Duro."_ I mutter at the shrubs again and then cover my head with my arms. The explosion doesn't disappoint. The heat of the fireball that had once been the black SUV washes over me and I immediately feel sweat break out on my forehead. The sound of car alarms going off up and down the street spill out and wash over the sounds of the battle. Shattered glass rains down on me, even from my position, and pieces of metal are imbedded into the brick of the house.

I don't get a chance to revel on how good I am, as my eyes scan for Romilda. She had taken the other side of the door, which led around the side of the house, and I couldn't see her. She has to be in the back.

I'm up and scrambling across the property when pain flares up in my left calf. I stumble my way into the doorway to the house, aim and fire another _Expulso_ at the car's remains across the street for good measure. I hear spell-fire from the back of the house over the car alarms, and I know for sure where Romilda is.

Wait…if Romilda's in the back…"Zabini! Where the _fuck_ are you!"

"Back here!" He shouts, and I hop my way up to standing and look back at my leg. A cutting curse clipped me. More knocked off balance than injured, I still need to be more fucking careful. If whoever sent this had been a bit better with casting while in pain, I wouldn't be walking.

Getting to the back of the house, I see Blaise crouching under one of the windows, giving Romilda occasional cover-fire. Romilda, for her part, is hiding behind one of the back sheds, popping out long enough to do some damage. The back garden of the house is littered with severed limbs and blood spatter.

"It was more than 20. A lot more. She has cover back here, and I've been trying to help, since you were more than holding your own, but I had to transfigure the hinges away from the back fence, because more just kept streaming in." He has a bit of blood on him, but for the most part, he looks fine.

"The front is clear…or as clear as it's going to get. Get Daphne and get the hell out of here."

"This isn't a scouting group, Potter. There's a lot of them, and more will keep coming. You two can't hold this place by yourselves." My Cutter hamstrings a man who had decided to charge toward Romilda, likely hoping to use his body to take up her spells while his comrades moved to better positions. He never got the chance, and I dropped him the second he came out from cover.

"We don't exactly have much choice, now do we? You said you were going to leave once it was clear, well it's fucking clear. So either get your bitch and get out of here, or shut up, aim your goddamned wand, and cover us." He shuts up, and moves away from the window, firing a few potshots at the shimmering shields that were set up around the back garden.

"Once Daphne's safe, I'll be back, Potter. Be alive when I get here." He shouts out from the front room. I can hear Daphne's groggy voice, before the pair's hurried footsteps are rushing from the house.

"Well…It's just me and you, Romilda." I mutter to myself.

She's pinned down in a corner, but she has them scared. The back fence is being banged into, as Blaise's transfiguration is holding strong, along with whatever spells he might have layered on there to keep whatever is on the other side of the wall, out.

"_Reducto." _I intone, and blow the window, along with a good deal of the wall around it, out. Firing Explosion Charms into each of the shields I see erected, I try and sprint as quickly as my body will take me, over toward Romilda. She sends one of her damned Sheep-Shearing Charms toward me, and I have to actually dive out of the way. The sound of a body falling to the ground makes me turn to see a headless man laying behind where I had been running. Romilda, however, collapses to the ground as well, and I can only guess that the spell the now dead man had been casting at me, she had taken instead.

I scramble to her side, turn my wand horizontally, and slam it down toward the ground, a wall of grayish-green energy shimmering into place in front of me.

I fucking hate shielding. I despise it. But I'm good at it, and Romilda is _not_ looking good. Hopefully, a few moments of her feeling safe will do her some good. She's panting heavily, and as soon as she sees spells are bouncing off of the shield, she drops her wand and holds both of her hands to her side, turning away from me.

Blood is covering her fingers, and her eyes are bright, but wet. She's hurt, and she's hurt badly. "Romilda…let me see."

"No. I can fight, goddammit, get that shield down and let's kill them." Her voice is short, snappish. Angry. She turns her head from me, and looks down at the wound that I can just barely make out. I grab her chin and turn her face toward me, but she turns her head roughly to the side to look away from me.

…Wasn't I on the other end of this not that long ago?

I grab both sides of her face and turn her head toward me, and finally get to look at her face clearly. Blood painting one side of her face. Eyes bright. Shining. Jaw set. Tears.

She's hurt, and she's hurt badly.

"Get your shirt off."

"What?"

"Get your fucking shirt off, Vane, or I will strip you right here." Her eyes show a flash of confusion, before she is attempting to peel her shirt off. She's taking too long. I pull her shirt from her body and fire a Cutter at the bunch of fabric, and rip the remains of the shirt off of her. I move her so that her injured side is toward me.

…

_Fuck._

The side of her body is fucking _covered_ in blood.

"_T…t-t." _My voice cracks, as I watch this woman who I had never seen anything less than psychotically apathetic, laid on her side, refusing to look at me. She wants to fight. I can see that as she reaches her hand out for her wand, though it is just out of her reach. But she's hurt, worse than I am, and depending on how bad this is... "_Tergeo." _The blood pulls away from her body, and relief floods through me. The large cut at her side is bad, but not as bad as it looked initially. The mass of blood was due, in part, to a series of smaller cuts and holes all around the largest one hemorrhaging blood at a steady pace.

"Romilda?" She stirs, her eyes looking up at me with a determination that somewhat shocks me. She's looking right at me, but I don't know if she sees me. "Romilda. Oi, Romi! Wake up!" Her eyes seem to finally settle on actually seeing me, and a faint smile slides across her lips. The blood near her eye has run from what I can only suspect are tears, and she seems to notice me looking, as she reaches up and wipes at her eyes frantically. This only serves to smear blood across her face more obviously, giving her eyes a sort of…mask of blood.

This girl finds a way to look wholly insane, even on accident. Amazing.

"Hold your shirt against it and keep pressure on it. If it doesn't stop, what I have to do is going to hurt. Badly. Stay out of the way and don't draw attention to yourself." She opens her mouth to protest, but she stops and nods.

The spells impacting the shield are getting stronger. I feel the shield groan, and the dull feel of drumming against my lower back, increases to an incessant thumping in tune with the spells' rhythm. My back begins to spasm erratically, and with my chest still aching and breathing still burning, I know I don't have long. As if hearing my thoughts on it, the shield flickers for a moment, and appears a much more dull gray than the grayish-green it had been.

…It won't hold much longer.

Romilda groans and tries to shuffle herself up into a sitting position. In doing so, she squeezes the bottom of the bundled up shirt she had been applying pressure with, and a stream of her blood poured onto the ground.

…And Neither will she.

She needs medical attention, and we need to get out of here. We…Wait…what am I forgetting.

Not what. Who.

_Fuck…_Pansy!

"_Duro."_ The shield went from a flickering gray to the color of stone. It was a special shield, one of two that I had made myself. Banishing it sends it shooting across the yard…belying the fact that it was now several tons of moving rock. "_Expulso! Expulso!"_

The slab of rock that was once my shield exploded all over the back garden. I tossed up a somewhat narrow, but strong, physical shield that protected both myself and Romilda, before I dropped it and sprinted back across the yard toward the hole I had jumped out of to get to Romilda.

Blood covers the floor, and I find myself scrambling for footing. I slam into the far wall, just as another form comes through the empty doorframe. I recognize the man enough to not remove his head from his shoulders, but I barrel past him, even as he shouts out after me.

"Potter, where are you going!"

I kick the door to Pansy's room in, and see her with blood utterly coating her torso, dripping slowly to the floor.

Something in me stops dead.

No.

Not both of them.

Everything moves slow, as I move around her bed as quickly as I can. Her eyes look up to me…there's something hollow about them.

Empty.

I finally get around the bed so that I can see her, and I look down, following the blood dripping to the floor and see…a man's body at her feet. My eyes shoot back up toward her, to see her eyes on me…there's a light in there. Somewhere. A heavy thud sounds.

There, still teetering from its fall, is Pansy's radio. Or what used to be Pansy's radio.

It was a bright red color, a pool of the same color forming under it.

The handle was dry, and the same dark gray color that it had been, evidence of it having been in Pansy's hand.

The cassette dock's door hung from one hinge.

Many of the buttons were missing. Some scattered across the floor.

The antenna was snapped.

One side was severely dented in, so much so that the material of the casing had snapped entirely. And that entire side of the radio was decorated in what appeared to be brain matter.

A profound feeling of relief hits me so hard that my stomach seizes and I taste bile in my mouth. I pull Pansy toward me and hold her tightly again my body as she shakes. A blaring white noise fills my ears, and I can't hear what I am sure is her bawling, and I am eternally grateful for that.

A hand touches my shoulder, and the next thing I know, I have my left hand wrapped around Blaise's throat so hard that my fingernails have made puncture wounds through his skin. Lowering my wand and looking at the scared man, I release him and back away, the sound coming screaming back into my ears all at once.

"What the _fuck,_ Potter?"

I don't even have an answer for him.

"Whatever. Get your crazy ass, and your girls, out of here. It's going to get very bad, very fucking fast, and if you are still in here when it does, there won't be anything left of you bigger than your wand."

Wait. This isn't bad already?

"What do you mean it's going to get very bad? It's already fucking bad."

Something in his eyes makes me believe him. I immediately release Pansy and run back, jumping down through the hole again and out to get to Romilda. She was looking pale, but conscious. I lift her up in my arms and head toward the hole again, when I feel it. A tremor under my feet.

Something isn't right.

Blaise jumps down from the hole before turning and helping Pansy down. "Fuck the front, we need to get out of here and fast. Back this way."

"Didn't you seal a bunch of them out over there?" I ask, wondering why he's heading toward the fence.

"Any of them still there, we can kill. The ones who are smart got away. Far away." Something is stirring in my mind, even as the tremors get harsher, and increase in frequency. Romilda stirs in my arms, and I wrap her arms around my neck and hold her tighter. Something isn't right.

Blaise has undone whatever he did to the fence and I've blasted a hole through it when it hits me. I know this feeling. But…

What looked like shimmering silver water sloshed out of the ground in front of us. Initially, it was pouring out like an underground pipe burst, but then it began to move upward. Something is _very_ wrong.

"Jump. Get over it, and get clear." Blaise listens, and helps Pansy over as the silver liquid begins to rise at an alarming pace. I reach over and hand Romilda to him, before backing up and getting a running start, diving over and just barely clearing it. Romilda had begun stirring in Blaise's arms, but once I took her back, she calmed quickly.

I know this work.

"Run, take Pansy wherever you took Daphne, I'll be right behind you." Blaise looks at me for a long, loaded moment, before he takes off running. I adjust Romilda in my arms, before I move around the neighbor's house and stare up to the front of the house.

Her brown hair has grown wild, catching on the wind as she danced with her spellwork. The bright glow that comes from her wand illuminates her in such a way that, even from here, I can see the early signs of wrinkles, and a few premature gray hairs. The years have not been kind to her. Not at all. Years of watching her life's work slip away had to do that to a woman.

She weaved her wand to and fro, a rising and falling font of blood mimicking her actions as she commanded the flow of it.

Warding was dead…useless without ambient magic.

Unless you had enough blood to power the wards.

And considering the amount of blood that I had left flowing in the street in front of the house, she had more than enough to establish almost any kind of ward she wanted to. And once set, the wards could always feed off of the puddles of blood Romilda and I had left in the back…but that wouldn't be necessary.

No.

Penelope Clearwater didn't specialize in long-term wards. But the warding she did specialize in, required just as much, if not more, blood that long-term protection wards. It had been a major limiting factor on her ability to find anyone willing to utilize her…particular talents. Why bother with providing her the necessary magical fuel when, for the same amount, you could protect several homes for months?

It would seem, Narcissa had found a use for the woman.

There was a certain beauty in her ward-weaving. An…artful aesthetic to what she did. She'd often sway while preparing to cast, as if hearing music no one else could.

Penelope Clearwater would dance while building her wards.

I've seen enough, and I heft Romilda up in my arms and begin running, following bodies, as Blaise apparently had fought his way clear. I eventually found them waiting in an alleyway a few blocks away. Daphne was leaning against a dumpster at the far end, with Blaise checking on her, and Pansy staring up in the sky as the swirl of silver liquid continued to form a dome above her house. It was easily visible from where we stood, and it was just over three-quarters of the way complete.

"Zabini, get her and let's go."

"Daphne's tired, and we should be alright out here…"

"I'm not asking you, Blaise. We aren't 'alright' here, and Romilda needs medical attention, and soon. Get her, and let's go, goddammit. Move!" I don't mean to sound so harsh. So angry. Pansy flinches and Romilda stirs, rubbing her cheek against my neck and tightening her grip around my neck. She's alright, the bleeding had to have slowed, but she's low on blood, and needs help.

We run half a block before I see a beaten down old minivan parked on the street. Its night, and anyone on the street at the moment is staring up at the luminescent silver bubble nearing completion a ways away. Banging my elbow into the window, it shatters and I open the locks. I place Romilda gently on the passenger seat, which makes her claw at me, refusing to let go, but I get away and move over to the driver's side. She reaches her hands out for me, and I reach over and hold onto her hand for a moment. Everyone else clamors in, and I fumble around in my pockets until I find it.

It had taken me quite a while to find another pocketknife like this. But times like these made me thankful I had.

Jamming it into the starter and turning the van on, I rev the engine and pull out as quickly as I can. The car is slow to accelerate, but we should make it. The bubble of silver liquid finally meets up at the top and solidifies. A bright twinkle comes from the top, so bright it is blinding, even with me facing the other direction. When I can see again, I see the van heading right for a stopped car in the middle of the street, as the driver had gotten out of his car to stare.

Everything is silent as I try and turn to avoid the mesmerized man and his parked Mercedes. Even the sound of the tires screeching on the road as I swerve, seems buried under the all-encompassing lack of sound. I avoid the idiot driver just enough to simply kiss the back bumper of the expensive car with the side of our stolen van and then, Light.

Everywhere. Everything, washed out in white.

It clears, and even with spots dancing in front of my eyes, I watch the rearview mirror. The silvery bubble bulges obscenely, before rippling in to the point where it looked even smaller than the house that it had been wrapped around. It bulges out one more time, and then, it pops.

There is utter silence, and then sound. Everywhere, screaming, alarming, _loud_ sound.

From what I can only estimate is well over 15 blocks away, the shockwave of the utter destruction of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, is enough to knock the van we had stolen completely over.

As my vision darkens after my head impacts the ceiling of the van and then the pavement of the street, I see Romilda scrambling with her seatbelt, her eyes locked on mine as she scratches and claws at it to try and get to me, that beautiful fanaticism alight in her eyes.

_I'm alright, Romi…_


	14. Chapter 14

Blood.

Blood and glass.

Sound…

…loud sound.

…

Tan boots.

I know those boots… but why are they covered in blood?

Who's blood? Mine?

I'm laying down, but I'm moving.

My back is burning.

Who the fuck is dragging me?

And why is there so much _goddamned _screaming?

* * *

White.

Everywhere, white. Sanitary, dry, cold, sterile, _unnatural_ white.

My eyes burn and water immediately at the all encompassing brightness of the room. And just as quickly, it's all blocked out by a veil of black.

A veil of spiraling black…hair.

And eerie, honey-tinted hazel eyes staring right down at me.

"Harry!" Her shout sends lances of pain through my head that seems to bounce around in my skull. She's rambling off in a strict voice, but not to me. Footsteps send shakes through my body, and it's only then that I realize that I am lying on the floor.

Sound.

Everywhere.

Frantic, scrambling movement. Shoes darting past my head. Crying children. Crying women. Screaming men. A mishmash of sorrow, hopelessness, and utter despair. I know where I am.

The world of white swims, shifts and readjusts as if in a ball floating atop turbulent waters. And finally, it all seems to slip into focus.

There are bodies _everywhere._

Broken, bruised, battered bodies, strewn this way and that like so much garbage. Discarded clothes littering floor, window and light-fixture. Bandages soaked through with blood, bone occasionally peaking through shredded muscle and bleeding marrow. And this is just the _Waiting Room_ of the hospital.

The receptionist's desk, the largest piece of furniture in my viewing area, is being used as a make-shift operating table for a man with a piece of metal easily the size of my forearm buried in his stomach. Blood and other fluids spill down his side, off of the oak circular desk and all over the floor, seeping into the linoleum.

Everything around me sounds blurred together. A baby begins a cry that ends up the sound of shouting over a flatlining heart monitor.

Voices.

Voices I know.

And then, I'm being touched.

I recognize the feel of the hand, and just as quickly as her name begins to form on my tongue, her face slips into view. "Why hello there, Mister Potter." I can't help but note how much more pleasant the white of her smile is, compared to the white of the room I am in. "As beautiful a man as you are, I must say, I had really hoped it would be a lot longer before I saw you again!" She swats me on the shoulder, before leaning up and planting a kiss on my forehead. Her voice drops to a whisper, which sits uncomfortably on the line between affectionate and dictating. "You'll be fine, Harry. Just close your eyes, I'll take care of you."

Padma's hands are small, and warm.

She checks out the side of my head, before rolling up my pants leg and observing my injured calf. She's humming. Brings a smile to my face.

And then it was gone.

Screams. So many screams.

"Clear some space!" A shout comes, and I find myself being pulled backward across the floor. I watch as several dirty and blood people rush in, carrying a woman's body between them. Her shirt is in tatters and has risen up, displaying an obviously pregnant belly. That's all I can see before she is rushed in and the body of the man who had been lying on the desk with the metal in his stomach is moved.

People in bloodied white coats moved frantically around, as the woman's stomach contracted and her hand dangled over the side of the desk, limp. Blood spiraled down her arm and dripped on the floor. One of the doctors in a stained white coat immediately turned to one of the men who carried her in. "Where was this one?"

"About eight blocks from the Blast Zone. She was in an office building. Seems like about half of the support beams collapsed. She was under a desk on the bottom floor, barely conscious. Bloody lucky, she was." His tone was gruff, and he'd punctuate every sentence with a heavy cough. He was covered in soot and dust, and a lot of it had to be in his lungs, just as it was on his face. "Building came down toward the other side, and the desk only had a bunch of cubicle partitions and on it. Suspecting that's what hit her, so she's not doing _too _bad, but considering her condition…"

"Who the bloody hell works this late in their pregnancy?"

"No idea, sir. But she's not doing to great. I'm surprised we were able to get close enough to get to her. The rescue workers _still_ can't get within six blocks without risking their own safety. Some of them are out there about to attempt it anyways. Bloody idiots. Brave idiots, though."

"Yeah, well, sometimes bravery and stupidity are two sides of the same coin." How wonderfully true.

Romilda's face swims into view, and something in her eyes makes me stop listening to the conversation between the people as they attend to the pregnant woman. "Harry, we need to get out of here."

"Absolutely not, Vane. I need to make sure that Harry is stable, and then I need to get myself into the fray here, and try to help as many people as I can. These people need help. While you lack empathy, I don't." Padma bites at Romilda, and I have to wonder what underlying tension is between the two of them. I'm inclined to agree with Padma, but the conviction in Romilda's eyes weigh heavily on me. I know after even such a short time with her, that if Romilda is serious about something, then it is usually worth taking seriously.

"It's too dangerous here. Harry isn't safe." As if to punctuate that, the door slams open again and another two bodies are carried in, covered in what looks like ash, charcoal and destroyed drywall. "And everything; including any emotions I have for any other people, it all comes second to making sure that he's alright. And this place is not alright." Romilda motions her head toward the pregnant woman we had been watching, who was quiet. Entirely too quiet considering the doctors apparently attempting to cut her stomach open. "It isn't safe here."

"Romilda, I don't understand. What's not safe about it?" Even as I ask this, I feel my brain attempting to piece it all together. Everything is still cloudy in my head, and things aren't clicking the way I think they should.

"If there was ever a time for an attack by people looking to obtain large quantities of blood for their own use, it would be now. The more desperate would attack this whole group of muggles just on the off-chance of _one_ wizard. There are six of us. And that's not even considering the possibility of Narcissa deciding to go scouting for all of us." There is silence, before my eyes dart around for the missing members of our party.

Blaise is sat with his back against a nearby wall, his arms wrapped around Daphne. Blaise is clearly asleep, and has gauze wrapped all over his right arm. Daphne appears barely conscious, but she shifts every so often and nuzzles against Blaise's chest.

Pansy is sat in the corner, staring at her hands. I know that look…it's not one that you can forget easily. She's killed a man, and she's still in shock from it.

"You two, stay out here, and watch. I'm going to go in and check, then we go to the next station if nothing." The voice is from outside. It is precise, commanding, and female.

A male voice responded, "I dunno how anyone could make it out of there, Dem. We should just go back and tell her that we couldn't find them, save ourselves the time."

"I don't much recall asking you what you thought. You've been spewing negativity for the last few hours, and frankly, I'm fucking tired of it. Captain Susie sent this search party to find them, and we're going to look around until we find them." She's silent for a moment, and when she speaks again, it sounds closer. "And if you call me 'Dem' in public one more time, I'll punch you in the face. Don't test me."

The door is yanked open, and hard brown eyes scan the room before landing on us. Her eyes widen and she rushes over, attempting to navigate the floor quickly without bumping any of the people, and without stepping in any of the pools of blood and other liquid on the floor. Padma's hands have stopped moving, and I can feel them tighten on me.

"D…Demelza? Wha…"

"Pad! You found him? You were supposed to report back to us! We've been driving all over the city looking…" Demelza stopped speaking as she looked down at me. She was a short, slim girl, with thick auburn hair and steel-colored eyes. She has a scar going down the right side of her just-a-bit-too-thick jaw, and continuing along her neck and into her shirt. I don't know a spell that makes a cut like that without taking off your head. I do, however, know a certain household utensil that fits the mold well…

"Sorry, Robbins. Got preoccupied here, trying to do what I can. I only found him just a bit ago and only had enough time to get some of his friends doctored up before I started checking on him. Haven't been able to do too much though…" There's a shame in Padma's voice that makes me wish I could comfort her, say that it's alright and that she did more than she had to. But something about the gray eyes that are peering down at the both of us make me feel like I'd be better off observing.

"Can we move him?"

"I'd prefer…"

"Let me rephrase this. Is it safe to move him? Will he keel over and die if he leaves the floor?" Padma shakes her head, and Demelza nods. "Good, then he gets moved."

"And his friends?"

"Leave them. Orders only said him."

Romilda's long legs appear in front of me as Demelza moves forward, and the height difference between the two is quite dynamic. "Miss, if you don't move out of my way, I will move…" Her voice begins to trail as she looks up to Romilda, and her final word is almost a whisper "…you." She is quiet for a moment before she takes a step back and narrows her eyes. "You. What are _you_ doing here?"

Romilda shifts her weight to her left leg, and I have to drag my eyes away from her body and back to Demelza. "Where he goes, I go." Romilda's voice is cold.

"Padma…What is Defender Vane doing here?" Demelza's voice is unsteady as she backs away toward the door that she entered. She'll call for her two people at the door any moment, and we do not need a magical firefight in the middle of a goddamned hospital.

"Oi, Robbins. Calm down. She's with me." Turning on my side, I try and lift my head, just to have the room swim. Romilda rushes to my side, attempting to pull me up. When I'm finally standing, I realize how weak she feels attempting to support me. "Wherever I go, she goes." I repeat Romilda's statement, before nodding my head toward the corner. "Them too." Demelza looks over toward where I had indicated and her eyes narrow.

"Zabini and Greengrass are not going anywhere with us. They aren't, and I will just leave you here and have Susan come get you." The conviction in her voice is shocking, and her tone is staggering. I look over to see Blaise awake, holding Daphne tightly against him.

He meets my eyes and nods. "We were going to have to part company as it was. Go on, we'll be fine here. No one will be looking for us, and all we need is a bit of rest before we get on our way." There's a solemn look to him, and all I can do is nod.

"Fine. But someone get Pansy." Shaking my head, the room spins rapidly for a moment before my balance returns to me, and I follow Demelza out of the door. Romilda is still holding on to me, and I have to catch her as she stumbles for a moment stepping off of the curb. Her eyes, normally so bright, seem just a bit more dull than usual. Something's wrong.

* * *

The ride across the city is devastating to see from the back of a car. Smoke is still rising from what I can only guess is a crater of ruined homes and destroyed lives, and an odd white dust sits thick in the sky. Narcissa ordered this…she had to have. If her people had been successful, she wouldn't have been able to do this…

She sent those people to die. She sent them, specifically for us to kill them, so she could have Penelope kill us. The woman decimated so many lives, attempting to kill me.

What kind of person does stuff like that?

The car ride has been relatively silent. The two men that Demelza had brought with her drove the van, while Demelza sat in the second row of seats next to Pansy. Romilda and I sat in the back, staring out of the windows around us. The shock is clear on her face as she watches people struggle their way down the street. She shifts in her seat, moving herself so she is pressed somewhat against me, and pulls the jacket closer to her body.

Hey…that's my jacket!

Romilda's body is warm, and I appreciate that more than anything else. Pansy's slight snoring is audible from right ahead of me, and Demelza is eyeing the girl with a bemused look. "Turn the radio on; see if you can find out what the news is saying about all of this." Demelza dictated, and the man riding in the passenger seat flicked the radio on.

Holy fuck.

Is that…

Are you kidding me?

I…

Demelza sums up my thoughts precisely and succinctly. "What the _fuck_ is Narcissa doing on the radio?"

"…And all we can hope to do is assist in the repairs. I repeat, this was an act of magical terrorism, and I will not rest until the perpetrator is brought to justice. I cannot speak for my colleague, who runs the other form of magical law enforcement, but I assure you that _I _am doing everything in my power to bring whoever did this to justice. Next question?"

A male voice came through the speakers, and I realize that this must be some kind of press conference. She has the gall to hold a press conference to talk about devastation caused by an attack she ordered? Wow. "Does every magical person possess the ability to cause this level of devastation?"

"Not anymore, no. This was an attack on us by someone with a specific skill set, and I do not believe that there are any other people in the UK with such abilities, no." She is quiet for a moment, before speaking, her voice clearer for some reason. "I want to state this. I will spare nothing in my attempt to bring this person to justice. Whatever help that magic can be in repairing this situation, it will be made available. My Defenders aren't just law enforcement, they are also public servants. Anything we can do as an office, I wish to provide.

"Regardless of any differences we may have, be it those of us with magic, or those of us without it, we are all humans, and most importantly, we are all Britons. Thank you for your time."

Silence drags through the car as a hand moves up and clicks the radio off. Everyone is left trapped inside their own minds as they consider everything they have just heard.

"She's attempting to discredit Susan." Demelza mutters, sounding almost amazed.

I _am_ amazed. "Worse. She's attempting to discredit Susan, while building her own public image." Demelza nods at my words, while Romilda stirs, staring more fully out of the window.

Looking somewhat restless, Romilda mutters, "The fact that she has this opportunity because she ordered the attack in the first place is what bothers me the most about it."

"It shocked me as well, Vane." Demelza responded.

"I didn't say it shocked me, Robbins. This is Narcissa we are talking about. Nothing about this _shocks_ me; I simply said it bothers me."

"My apologies then. I never knew you could feel bothered. I was always under the impression you're your overwhelming insanity would simply bury such a comparatively tame emotion like annoyance." Demelza didn't take Romilda's tone well, it would seem…

"I feel the emotion of annoyance just fine, thank you. Hell, I feel annoyed as we speak right now. Annoyance at your continued breathing. If you continue to bother me, my insanity and I will cooperate to remove the source of my ire."

"Did you just threaten me, Vane?"

"No. I said I would kill you." Romilda has continued to stare out of the window for this entire back and forth, bringing an air of… offhandedness to her statement that really does remind me that I have decided to allow an insane, possibly remorseless, murderer into my life. "Would you like to know how I would kill you, Robbins? I've thought of several ways since you arrived, and I believe I have settled on one that will be the most satisfactory to me." There is a playful tone to her voice that creeps me out. She's asking this in a vocal tone that can only be attributed to a small child wishing to extol to a parent a new, wonderful idea. She sounds utterly pleased with herself!

Demelza stays quiet, her hand likely fingering her wand, and Romilda continues on without much of a pause. "The best part is I wouldn't even use magic."

"Oh? You think you could kill me without your wand? You couldn't kill me _with_ it, so I simply _must_ hear this."

"You see, my biggest problem with you is that you continue to breathe. So, obviously, I would first wish to fix that. That you would die is simply a… fortunate side effect." Romilda's long, thin fingers dance from her lap, up her chest, and along the seat belt. "You see, first, I would wrap your seat belt around your tiny little neck, real tight-like." Romilda grasps her seat belt tightly in her hand, pulling it down and having more of the flat band come from the roll sat between the back and side windows of the car. "And then, I would open this door, and push your body out of it.

"At the rate we are going, I can only hope that the belt crushes your windpipe… But as a wonderful side possibility, the ground would likely grind off a good deal of your skin, and you'd bleed out before it became a problem anyway. Assuming you didn't find a way to roll yourself under the back tires. Not that I'd mind, so don't try and avoid them too much."

Demelza is speechless, and from the look on her face, somewhere between angry, shocked, and afraid.

Me, I'm just fucking creeped out. Again. Thanks to Romilda.

Romilda, for her part, is glaring into the back of Demelza's head in much the way a panther would glare at its prey as it stood just outside of pouncing distance. She seemed to be willing Demelza to do something that would allow Romilda to do as she apparently had planned out. After silence filled the vehicle for a few long beats, she sighed and sat back, releasing her seat belt and allowing it to snap back to tautly cross her chest. "Fine, you don't like that one. Would you like to hear one of my other ways to kill you? I have four more; three of them don't involve our current location, though." Romilda did that pouting thing again, and I can't help but stare at her. Demelza's body appears frozen in time, but I can see in the rear view mirror, that her right eye is twitching.

"Romilda, why don't you save your stories for another time, ok?" She looks at me and smiles a very sweet, child-like teeth-baring smile, and nods. She scoots over in her seat and leans more fully onto me, her forehead buried into my neck.

For some reason, after listening to her talk about how she planned to kill a woman with a seatbelt, I don't much feel like telling her to get off of me.

I've said it before, I'll say it again.

Romilda Vane is fucking creepy.

* * *

"Captain Susan, First Mate Demelza reporting."

What the hell…

Susan closed her eye and sighed, placing her forehead onto her desk. Her long, spiraling red hair spills over her shoulders and off of the desk, and I can hear her muttering.

Her head rises slowly, and her eye is narrowed and staring directly at Demelza. "Why do you insist on doing that?" Susan stands from her desk and stretches her back, dragging the small glass tumbler filled with a light amber liquid. "We're not on a bloody pirate ship, you dolt."

Demelza snapped her heels together and saluted Susan. "Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Susan closer her eyes and rubbed her forehead with her free hand while walking toward us. Demelza raised her chin up in what I can only describe as presenting herself. Susan walked right up to Demelza, and stared down at her.

Demelza looked down, and Susan leaned forward and placed her forehead against the smaller woman's. "You did well, Dem." She smiled and then stepped back and looked toward the rest of us. "And oh look! You delivered my precious cargo!" She turns away from Demelza and walks over to me, brushing her hair back and over her shoulder. "My parrot!" She turns and winks at Demelza, "Can't be much of a proper pirate captain without a parrot, can I?" Susan takes another pull from her glass, and then shifts her body so that she is directly between Demelza and me, effectively presenting the girl with her back.

Her gaze hardens immediately, and I can see the utter distress on her face. "Dem, why don't you head out, and let me attempt to train my new parrot for a while, alright?" Demelza makes her way out of the room, sending a long glare toward Romilda. Romilda, for her part, ignored the girl and brushed her dark hair over her shoulder. If I hadn't been looking for it, I wouldn't have seen it. The light in her eyes, and a motion of her hand reminiscent of pulling on a noose.

Demelza left the room, and the only people left in the room were Susan, Romilda, Pansy and I.

Susan immediately sits on her desk facing me, and speaks the most frightfully appropriate word I could think of for this whole situation. "Fuck."

* * *

After explaining everything we knew to fill in the gaps of what Susan knew, we spread all over the room, everyone thinking on the situation. Susan is sat on her desk, clutching the neck of the bottle of alcohol she had been drinking from so hard I'm worried she'll shatter the glass. Pansy is sitting in a chair facing the desk with her head in her hands, her back shaking as she sobs quietly to herself. I've stolen Susan's comfortable chair, and sit with my feet up on her desk, occasionally tapping her thigh with the toe of my bloodstained boot. Romilda is leaning against the door, staring at Pansy's back with a look that I have never seen on her face before.

"Narcissa has never been a fighter." Susan begins, pouring herself another glassful or what I suspect is whiskey. "If she had been forced to walk the streets without a guard detail, and live with just her wand and her wits, she'd have been dead a long time ago." Susan sighs loudly and shakes her head. "If only her ability to manipulate people and situations disappeared along with the ambient magic."

Susan curses to herself and takes a long pull from her glass. "This was a no-lose situation for her. She stages an attack, attempting to kill you, and when it didn't work out, she gets to swoop in like a hero. Then the bitch goes on the radio and tries to make me look like a lame duck because I couldn't respond as quickly as she could. I bet she had the goddamned reporters on call within minutes of the damned attack."

Susan glances over and Pansy and reaches out toward her with her hand, before stopping just inches from the crying girl and pulling her hand back. She closes her eye and takes a steadying breath. "I'm sorry about your home, Pansy. I have no idea how they found it, and I had _no _idea that Penelope was back in the country."

Pansy sits back and wipes at her face, her cheeks red and her eyes redder. "Thank you, Susan." She looks a mess, and as soon as she has taken her hands away from her face, she is back to staring at them. Romilda moves away from the door and behind Pansy, taking the latter's wrists in her hands. Pansy jumps and looks alarmed, but Romilda's hold is light.

"Look at your hands." She commands in a gentle voice. Pansy looks like she is going to pull away, but instead, does as she is told to. She looks at her hands, and even from where I sit, I can see that they are shaking. "No, Pansy. _Really_ look at them."

"What do you mean, I am…"

"You're not. Look at your hands!" Pansy's eyes narrow and she turns her head as if to look back at Romilda, when the taller woman pulls on Pansy's wrists, causing the girl to turn back toward her hands. "There is no blood there, Parkinson. None." Romilda releases Pansy's wrists, and then holds her hands in front of them both, palms up. "Do you see any blood on my hands? Any at all?" Pansy shakes her head slowly, her chin moving to rest on her chest as she reacts to what, I'm sure, seems like a scolding. "It stands to reason that, your hands would be cleaner than mine, right? And if my hands are clean, wouldn't yours be even more so?" Pansy nods uncertainly.

"You did what you had to do, Pansy. He was going to kill you. You lived, and he did not. As much as I may dislike you, I know that Harry is happy that you survived, and if he's happy, then so am I." Romilda circles around Pansy's chair and kneels down in front of the girl, looking up at her. "It was him or you. You lived. He wouldn't be beating himself up over it if you had died." Romilda looked into Pansy's eyes for a long moment, and then her eyes hardened again and she placed her hands on Pansy's knees and pushed herself to standing again. "So, suck it up. We have important things to talk about, and you sitting here sobbing is…distracting."

Turning away from Pansy, Romilda walks toward me and sits down on the arm to my chair. She crosses one of her long legs over the other, and I feel her hand tinkering with my hair. And with that, Romilda was Romilda again.

"Um… wow. I have no idea what the fuck that was. For that matter, I have no idea why Defender Vane is in my office at all… But if there is one thing I can say, it's that I've come to just trust you to know what the hell you're doing." Susan smiles gently at me, before taking another drink. "So… what the hell _are_ you going to do?" She quirks an eyebrow at me.

"Narcissa needs to die." The first words I think of seem the most fitting as an opening statement. "She needs to die, and her goddamned organization needs to die with her. The problem is, as long as she is the head of said organization, and as long as the Defenders are in good standing in the public eye, any attack on her ends up looking like political assassination. Narcissa won't be a martyr, I'll be goddamned if I let her have that. So, what we have to do is simple. Topple the Defenders, and then kill their leader."

"You do aim high, Harry, I'll give you that." She smiles warmly at me before hopping down off of her desk and walking around it.

"I aim to please, Sue." Aiming my wand, I summon the bottle toward me and take a drink from it. It burns a sweet path down my throat, warming my body. Romilda slips the bottle from my hand just as my lips leave it, and tilts it back and drinks from it as well. She hands it back to me and continues whatever she is doing to my hair.

"Officially, I can't have anything to do with this." She leans forward, planting her hands on her desk and looking toward Romilda and me. "But unofficially, the bitch needs to go down." Motioning her hand for the bottle, I place it on the desk and push it, sending it gliding across the desk toward her. Snatching it by the neck, she takes a long pull and sits it in front of her, a smirk on her face. "So… what's the plan, Potter?"

And suddenly, with those few words, Pansy seems to come alive again. The girl stands from her chair and moves to sit, cross-legged on the desk, staring at me through her hair. She has always loved these crazy ideas, and I guess, even in her haze of emotion, she still does. I shoot a smile at her, and she struggles to smile back, but the fact that she can even halfway try gives me hope for her.

"Well, her Elite Guard needs to be put down. All of them. If she doesn't have them protecting her, she's a lot easier to take out. But that isn't the most important thing yet." Taking a dramatic pause, just for my own happiness with my storytelling, I wait until Pansy opens her mouth to ask before I answer the unasked question. "We need to cut her ranks. Make every current Defender really consider if their job is that important to them, and make every potential Defender think twice about signing on.

"We cut her ranks, we cut her resources. If recruitment is down, she's less willing to sacrifice lives attempting to kill me. Especially when there's room to fail." Looking hard at Pansy, I speak again, "And we need to cut her access to people like Penelope."

"Let me handle that, Harry." Susan says, pulling her wand and summoning a stack of files from a corner of the room. "I can't have my Aurors directly conflict with the Defenders unless there is just cause for it. So until there is, on that front, you're on your own. But this is something I can do."

"Harry, how do you even know she got out of the blast radius of her own spell?" Pansy asks.

"The number one rule of destructive warding is to protect yourself," Romilda states. "She wouldn't have blown the entire area unless she knew she would be safe. Considering apparation is impossible now, that means she had to have constructed protective wards around herself."

"She could do that?"

"With as much blood as there was around the house, if she really wanted to she could have set up a protective warding net around the house itself. There would have been no collateral damage at all." Pansy's eyebrows rise at my statement, and I know I don't have to finish it, but I do anyways. "She just didn't want to."

"So all of those people…"

"Yes. And Narcissa likely can't care less." Romilda answered. "Every single person who died in the blast is a death she can use to make herself look even better. She can play avenger to her own crime, and the world will love her for it. Right up until we kill her." Romilda's voice when she finishes her sentence sends a chill down my spine. It is so wonderfully cold.

I couldn't have said it better.

"Let me get this straight. Narcissa's created a magical law enforcement organization that has come to rival the Aurors in under a decade, and after today, we can only assume she has public support on her side. She's politically powerful, and has surrounded herself with a group of devoted, magically gifted women to protecting her. And you, Harry Potter, intend to kill her." Nodding at Susan's question, I watch as the biggest smile I have ever seen on the woman slides across her face. Her smile is so big; her cheeks shift her eyepatch just a little bit. "Good! Now that that's settled, who's hungry? I'm bloody _starving_."

* * *

"Harry, stop worrying, please."

"I would, Sue, but… they've been in there for ten minutes. What could they possibly have to talk about for ten minutes?"

"You."

"What's to talk about? It would only take Pansy, at most, thirty seconds to say "Stay away from Harry, you crazy bitch." And from there, it would take Romilda about ten to remove the girl's head from her shoulders. What would they then be doing for the next nine minutes and twenty seconds?" My words paint me as being a lot more blasé about the entire interaction, and also as being a good deal more heartless than I am. I really hope Romilda doesn't hurt Pansy. I don't doubt that she could, so all I can do is hope that she won't.

"I don't think she'd do that. I think, despite how… um… what's a nice word for crazy?" She smiles at me as I scowl at her, but carries on. "Well, despite how crazy she is, I think Romilda also knows that you would be less than happy with her, should she kill Pansy." I can agree with that, at the least. "Besides, look at how gentle she was with Pansy in my office." Again, something I can agree with.

Susan places her foot against the wall she is leaning back against and takes to drumming on her thigh with the wands she's holding. "Besides, I have her wand. She couldn't exactly remove Pansy's head from her shoulders without it, could she?" I'm scared to think about the answer to that. "…Could she?" My silence makes her reevaluate this assumption, apparently, as she looks at the door with a worried look as well.

"Either way… she seems almost _tame, _at least compared to the stories about her. What exactly have you been doing to her to cause this change, Harry?" Susan shoots me a sly grin, and attempts to waggle her eyebrows. All this does is jostle her eyepatch, and make her look vaguely creepy and lecherous.

"Stories?"

"Oh yes. You haven't heard them?"

"Assume that I haven't."

"Well, all I know is that Romilda in there was originally being considered for Head of Narcissa's Elite Guard. She had the skills, but she lacked a certain… sanity. None of the other girls in the Guard wanted to follow her, hell; they didn't even want to work with her. Narcissa was less than thrilled about this, considering it meant that she had to choose between the other girls, or Romilda.

"Obviously, the other girls won, but Narcissa was never as pleased with her team, and everyone knows it, even we Aurors. Lavender Brown especially has a bit of a sore spot, considering she got the job as Head as the second choice."

"So what you're telling me is, I have the woman who would be leading Narcissa's Elite Guard, traveling around with me?"

"Yep. She's good, Harry, I'm sure you know that. But the fact that you've been able to get her coherent enough to function without her attempting to take your head off is shocking in of itself. That she's in there with Pansy and appears to at least have a _reason_ to not kill the girl, speaks volumes about your ability to have her devoted to you." Susan is quiet, and gives me a long, almost _appraising_, look. "What is it about you and making people believe in you and follow you?"

"Bit of a superpower, it is." I smile at her, though I can't help but stare at the closed door even more worriedly.

The door opens and Pansy walks out, looking toward Susan and me with a strained smile. Her eyes are red and it's clear she has been crying again, but she somehow looks a lot better. She walks toward me and molds herself into my chest, wrapping her arms low around my waist. Placing my chin on the top of her head, I hug her back. It's a tough feeling, realizing you no longer have a home to return to. I know that better than most people, and if me hugging her does anything to help her there, then so be it.

Romilda walks out of the room, stopping to look at Pansy and me before turning toward Susan and holding her hand out. Susan slaps Romilda's wand into her hand, and Romilda nods and walks over to me. She eyes Pansy for a long moment, before turning to put her back against the wall. She leans against me and places her head on my shoulder, causing her hair to spill off of her shoulder and onto Pansy.

Was it not a day ago that Romilda was banging Pansy's head into the floor? This whole situation seems surreal… "Ok, you've hugged him enough now, let him go and bugger off, the adults need to speak now." Ah, everything feels normal again.

Pansy scowls at Romilda before stepping back a bit. She looks up into my eyes, and I can't help but be reminded of how much better Pansy looks when she is in control of a situation. How… broken she looks right now just reminds me of how she always seemed to look back when I first began to take care of her. It isn't a good look for her, and it makes my chest ache.

Suddenly Pansy pulls herself back toward me and hugs me so tight that my chest _really_ starts to ache, as all of the air is driven out of my lungs. She holds onto me tightly for a long moment, and I become vaguely aware that she's crying again. With a deep sigh, she lets her arms fall to her sides and steps back away from me. Her smile seems a bit more real this time.

Her eyes dart to Romilda, and the smile disappears quickly. "You take care of him, bitch. If anything happens to him, so help me, I will find a way to hurt you, and I will take _deep_ pleasure in doing it." And then her eyes are back on me. Tears fall from them slowly, as she reaches up and takes me face in her hands. She leans up on her tip-toes and pulls my face down so that our noses are touching. "Be safe, Harry. And come back to me." She has an unsure look in her eyes, before she kisses me on the chin and turns and walks away.

What the fuck?

"…Romilda, what the _hell_ was that all about?" I ask the girl who is still leaning with her head on my shoulder. Pansy crosses the distance between me and Susan, and starts talking to the redheaded woman.

"What do you mean, Harry?" I don't even get a chance to say anything, or turn my head to give her a look, before the coyness disappears. She gives a sigh before letting her voice drop half an octave. "I don't know what you see in her. But whatever it is, it has to be something. And for her sake, she can't come with us, she'd die out there. Frankly, I could care less, but because you care, I do. Besides, if she found some way to get you hurt, I'd have to kill her." There is this matter-of-fact tone in Romilda's voice that makes me wonder about even bothering to argue with her.

I shrug her head off of my shoulder and step to the side so that she is now standing between the wall and my body. "I don't think that was your decision to make, Romilda."

She makes something of a whimpering sound before looking directly into my eyes. "Maybe not, but she understood. I may not like the girl, but she cares about you. Enough to put her own feelings aside and agree to step back, and let someone _vastly_ more qualified to watch your back, do so." Romilda's full lips lift into something I can only call a smirk. "If she wasn't such a small, helpless, annoying bitch, I might almost respect her for that."

"We can't just leave her. Where is she going to stay? On the floor of Susan's office? In the Auror barracks? Yeah, that would go just great."

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn to see Susan looking up toward me, a slight smile on her face. "Don't worry, Harry, I'll take care of her. It's the least I can do, considering you plan on getting Narcissa out of everyone's hair." She smiles up at me, before glancing toward Romilda quickly and then back at me. "You can visit her any time, none of Narcissa's people would be stupid enough to attack my home, and if any of them are, I welcome it. It would be all the instigation I'd need to openly attack the Defenders." She shows a wicked smile before flicking one of her long, spiraling red pigtails over her shoulder.

"I think you two should get going through. I can only assume that Narcissa doesn't know you're alive. The chances of that element of surprise disappearing increase the longer you stand around out here in the open. If you need anything, you know where I'll be; and its likely better for all of us if I don't know where you'll be." She begins to walk backwards away from me, a smile on her face. "You stay safe out there. I'll have my eye out for you, Harry."

There's a sincerity in her smile - right before she turns and walks away from me - that makes me feel warm.

"Well Romilda, I guess it's just us."

"Planning to ravish me in the hallway, Harry?"

"What? No, Romi-"

A sly smile spreads across her face as she looks me up and down. "Too bad." She taps my chin with her knuckles and turns away from me, her long black hair hitting me in the face before falling down her back, bouncing with her steps as she all but prances away from me. Her deep, throaty laughter fills the hallway as my eyes are drawn to her rolling hips.


	15. Chapter 15

Romilda wand is lighter than mine.

That fact plagues my mind as I stare at it, stuffed down the front of her shirt as she sleeps. Considering she is asleep on top of me, and high enough that she can sit her knees on either side of my waist, that leaves her chest - and her wand - at eye level. I've been awake for about an hour, and I have now noticed that Romilda's wand is lighter than mine.

Her lips curl into some kind of odd smile, even through her eyes aren't open yet. Her thighs tighten around me, and her fingertips dance up my shoulders.

"Good morning, Romilda."

"Well hello there, Mister Harry. Was last night as good for you as it was for me?" Her tired voice has a tint of sultriness in it that makes me feel itchy and uncomfortable. Sighing and staring at her, I push down the desire to do something as childish as roll my eyes.

"Last night, Romilda, we killed someone. To put it more specifically, we killed several somebodies. There are a lot of reasons why that shouldn't be 'good' for anyone." She looks down at me, literally and figuratively, and I can just see the words _'who the fuck are you kidding'_ scratching at her lips, fighting to escape. Sighing, I decide to stop trying to be moral with Romilda. It has no redeeming value. "Ok. Fine. It was good for me."

"Just good?"

"Yes, Romilda."

"You're lying, Harry."

"Am not."

"You loved every minute of it. Every bloody second," her hands slid up my chest and over my shoulders as she leans down closer to me. I try and push my head back away from her, just to realize that the hard mattress I'm laying on is quite resistant to my attempts to escape. Her eyes dance just above my own, her hair spilling down and dancing on my forehead and making me have to fight the urge to brush her hair out of my face. "Admit it."

"Fine." If I think about it, I can still feel the sick feeling of the blood that covered me last night. We were ambushed in an alleyway while looking for someone to get information from, and by the end of a fair amount of fighting, we still had no information. What we did have, was a lot of dead bodies and the need to get rid of the clothes we wore.

I really liked those boots, too.

I suppose it's a testament to Romilda. Those boots had survived years of me living on my own, getting in battles constantly, and despite slight stains, they had held up fine. My first night with just Romilda and I, and they ended up in a dumpster behind a dimly-lit Chinese Food restaurant, nestled on a cushion of mostly everything else I had on, and four bodies in varying stages of dismemberment. And to think, they used to say _I_ left destruction in my wake.

"Well, let's get up, then."

Romilda brushed her hair over her shoulder and looked down at me. "No, that's ok," She replied, and then laid down over me and rubbed her cheek against my chest. "Ten more minutes."

"Yeah… no. That's not going to work for me. Up, with you." I slapped my hands on her thighs a few times to attempt to get her to stand, but stopped immediately once she let out a sound that sounded far too close to a moan for my own good. I _really_ should have known better.

"Shame, that." She mutters, rolling her head to the side in a way that makes me think she is getting up. That thought disappeared quickly, as she speaks through a veil of her hair, her lips muffled as she talks with them pressed against my chest. "Since it works for me."

* * *

Romilda doesn't do time well. My understanding of time isn't perfect, but even I am aware that her "ten minutes" ended up being something closer to an hour. As she finally rolls off of me and pads past the window toward the small bathroom in the far corner of the motel room we are staying in, morning sunlight slips through the shitty curtains and catches her skin. I feel myself grimace at the sight of the large bruise that covers one side of her back. Almost as soon as I feel that, however, I then feel myself wince at the pain that grimacing causes, the scratches and nicks on the right side of my face all but screaming in protest at my sudden facial tick.

If there is something I can say about Romilda, it's that she reacts with extreme prejudice to attacks on her person. But her tendency to overreact could be problematic. What would have been a simple scuffle outside of a pub ended up with three people dead, and me picking glass shards out of my hair and trying to find an all-night pharmacy. The attendant was a cute enough girl with the most annoying gum chewing habit I have ever had to bear witness to. She was helpful in getting us the supplies we needed, though her curiosity lead to her asking what had happened. Romilda saw fit to tell the attendant that we had simply gotten a bit overzealous in our… coupling. So now there's a girl across town who thinks that she witnessed two people wander in covered in blood and bruises, half-naked, past midnight, due to injuries sustained during rough sex.

That pharmacy is now dead to me.

Rolling out of the bed, I look across the room toward the bathroom door. Romilda never closed it, and didn't even bother closing the shower curtain, so I have an eyeful of her standing under the steaming water flow, her dark hair plastered to her head and running down over her shoulders. I follow the wavy dark hair, and watch as a pinkish hue drains out of it, down her skin and into the tub. I can't believe that we were so covered in blood last night that she was still washing it out of her hair. When my eyes finish their scanning of her body, I look up to her face to see a very obvious smile on her lips, and I realize that I have been staring at her as she showered. Turning in an attempt to respect her privacy, even if she didn't respect her own, I can't help cringing at the bruise on her back. She hid it well, but even the water pouring down onto her was causing her some measure of pain.

Reaching over and clicking on the television, I immediately want to click it off again. If there is anything I can't stand to see when I first wake up, it's fucking _Narcissa_ on the television, spouting off about how she's personally leading the investigation into the "terrorist" attack.

The nerve of this bitch, I swear.

"…Yes, we are doing the best that we can to assist in the clean up. Magic is an invaluable resource, but we can't do it all on our own. And that is why we ask everyone who is able to assist to do so in any way they can, be it through a donation of time or money. Anyone who wishes to assist physically can come to any point within the Blast Zone and speak to one of the designated clean up witches or wizards in the grey vests, and they will direct you to an area of need.

"If manual labor isn't as easy for you to provide, monetary donations can be made to the Defenders Office."

"Got you, bitch!" I shouted, joy appearing in me for the first time in quite some time. In the middle of the ocean of Narcissa's bullshit, there was a beacon of hope that I reached out for and grabbed tightly.

"Who have you got, Harry?" Romilda's voice drifted toward me as she drew closer. I stared intently at the television, no longer listening to her speak, simply watching the haughty bitch on the screen seem so self-satisfied. "Is it someone I know? And are we killing them?"

I turned my head toward Romilda's voice, but kept my eyes on the television and nodded. "Yes. For the love of all that is good and sacred, yes we will kill her."

Romilda made a sound that sounded somewhat like a squeal, and the bed dipped as weight on the other side of it shifted. I turned my eyes to her, and immediately looked away. "Dammit Romi, put some clothes on!"

"I like to air dry."

She snatches the remote away from me and turns the sound up, leaning back and listening to more of Narcissa's bureaucratic bullshit. She laughs loudly at random things the woman would say, and I keep trying to keep my eyes away from her. She makes no motion to cover up, and maintains her insistence on air drying, even thirty minutes later when she's obviously as dry as she's going to get. Eventually, I stand and go into the bathroom. She sits up and peers after me as I turn to close the door. She smiles slyly at me, and I shake my head at her, closing the door and hiding me from her gaze.

Bracing my hands on the sink, I stare at the mirror.

"Fucking hell, Harry, you look like shit," I say to myself.

I turn the shower on and get in without even bothering to let the water heat up. The cold water feels like needles stabbing at my skin, but there is something soothing about such a simple reminder that I am alive. Despite how intently everyone seems to be to kill me lately, I'm alive. Alive and kicking, hiding out in a motel room with a newly naked - but always insane - Romilda Vane, planning to topple a portion of the government.

It's been one day, and I'm already sure that her insanity has rubbed off on me far too much already.

Closing my eyes and losing myself in my mind, I lost track of time. The pouring water drowned out the world, right up until I heard the click of the bathroom door closing. Moving out from under the stream of water and preparing to attack whoever opened the shower curtain, I prepared myself. It only took about thirty seconds of nothing happening before I realized what was happening. "Romilda?"

"Yes Harry?" She responded from the other side of the curtain, a slight laugh tinting her answer.

"Can I help you with something?"

"Funny you should say that, I was just about to ask you the same question-"

"No."

"No?"

"No."

"Damn."

Sighing and brushing my soaking hair out of my face, I shake my head and chuckle to myself. The girl was insane, but at least she made things fun. I wait until I heard the sound of the door open and close again before I turn off the water and peek around the shower curtain. Seeing no sign of the likely still naked, dark-haired woman, I step out of the tub and reach out for the towel on the rack.

Wrapping it around me, I walk out of the bathroom. Romilda is reclined in the center of the bed, still watching the television. She toys with the bottom hem of the shirt is now wearing, pulling down on it and rubbing her legs together in a motion that I suspect she intends to look absentminded. At this point, though, the action is so different from anything she does normally, I can tell what she is trying to do. Her long legs escape the shirt despite her feeble attempts, and in spite of me knowing the game she is playing, I still take my time looking from her legs to her eyes. As my eyes make their journey, I notice that the shirt she is wearing and trying so futilely to keep down, is the shirt I had purchased from the pharmacy last night.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Ever thought of air drying?"

"I can't say I ever have, Romilda." She turns and looks at me, her eyes locking right on my own. Her teeth bit down on her bottom lip and then let it slip from the hold slowly, right before she opens her mouth to speak. I cut her off before she can, "And no, I won't be thinking about it now."

She sticks her tongue out at me in a motion so childish it actually forces a bit of a laugh from my throat. "You're no fun!"

No, I suppose I'm not.

* * *

We find a diner down the street from where we are staying, and as we wait for our food to come, Romilda looks over at me. As I bat away her foot from trying to rub against mine, she arches an eyebrow at me. "So, what was this epiphany that you had about Narcissa?"

"Well, this is the way I see it…" I stop as the waitress walks toward us and places our plates down in front of us. She smiles toward Romilda before looking me over and letting her eyes linger on me, a smile on her face that is just a bit less courteous and more sexy than the one she had given Romilda. Without even needing to look at the woman across from me, I reach out and grab her wrist. The waitress raises her eyebrows a touch and nods, obviously taking my action as a show of me being with the girl across from me and being committed to her.

In truth, I did that because Romilda was reaching over toward either the napkin dispenser - which she had sat her wand behind - or the place setting, and therefore the serrated steak knife that sat between the fork and spoon. If there was something I wanted to avoid, it was Romilda killing the damned waitress at a diner near where we were staying. Not only would the woman's death be unwarranted and unfortunate, we would have to relocate so we didn't get found, and that'd be inconvenient as well.

The waitress walked off, an extra sway in her hips that I noticed but couldn't really say I found myself particularly interested in it. Romilda ran her fingers across my skin gently before reaching up and removing my hold on her. She reached over and grabbed her fork and knife and took to cutting up her food. "Go on, Harry."

Hmm… What had I been talking about? Oh yeah. "Well, it's like this. She's on television, asking for donations for the rebuilding effort to be sent to the Defenders. If we aim to discredit her, one of the best ways to do that is through the money. People don't like having their money used for a purpose that they didn't originally intend."

Romilda nodded, continuing her intricate cutting. "Well, I know Narcissa. The money that is being sent isn't all going to be used for rebuilding."

"Of course not. A fair bit is going to go into the right pockets as she continues her mission to get the Aurors shut down and her people put in as the main magical political power here."

"Exactly. Not to mention that _someone_ has to pay the Elite Guard salaries. Plus, she has been eyeing this really nice estate for the last few _years_. She loves the place. Sadly, because of her sudden inability to access her Gringott's vault," she raises an eyebrow toward me, and I bark out a small laugh in spite of myself, "she hasn't had the money to secure it. I'm sure this will be the perfect windfall for her to live the way she believes she should be allowed to live."

"Yes. So now, what we need to do is find a way for her to get caught with her hand in the money jar. It won't completely ruin her, and it wouldn't tarnish the organization,"

"No, it would," Romilda interjected. "The Defenders aren't like the Aurors. There is no real chain of command, there isn't anyone set to "inherit" the leadership of the place, should something happen to the current leader."

"There isn't?"

"No. Well, not anymore."

"Anymore? What do you mean by that?"

"Well… Narcissa was grooming me for that. For some reason, however, complaints racked up that I might not be… suitable for the job." Her use of the word "suitable" instead of "sane", as she meant it, isn't lost on me. "As such, the Defenders are very much like… if you cut the head off the snake, the body will die." Romilda looks to the side out of the large window we sat next to, and seemed to be miles away at the moment. It is a look I recognize so well that it feels like I'm being stabbed through the chest. "Unless it's a Runespoor. Then the other heads tend to celebrate the death of a dissenting opinion, and they keep right on arguing without a third voice interjecting. Or so I hear."

I can't take a breath in, and I feel like I'm drowning. Holding tightly onto the low grade metal that the utensils are made of, feeling the handle to the fork contort a bit under my grasp, I try and force my body to breathe again. The oppressive nostalgia is like a weight on my chest, and I close my eyes. Immediately I see bright blue eyes and unkempt blond hair, and I snap my eyes open again.

"Harry?" Romilda's voice is panicky, but I wave her off before she can get out of her side of the booth and rush over toward me.

It takes me a moment, but eventually I can breathe again. I gulp down half of my glass of water, and then wipe away a light sweat from my forehead. "I don't for a second think that taking her out will remove the Defenders."

"Of course not, but it would do a lot toward it. It would take quite some time for the Elite Guard to get their heads in order before someone could be ready to be presented as the new public face of the group. If nothing else, that would give Susan some time to get her affairs in order-"

"No, fuck that." Romilda's eyebrows rise at my forceful refusal of that as a possibility. "I'm not settling for a few months of them being out of contention. This whole thing was a product of her creation, and it needs to be toppled over. The leader, obviously, but her little Guard, the enforcers who were out there killing people for little crimes and taking their fucking blood. Hell, the fucking _building_ needs to be taking down!"

Romilda looks at me with a blank face for a long moment, before a brilliant, beautiful, bright smile slides across her face, her eyes alight. She doesn't say anything, just sitting there, staring at me with that smile on her face. Eventually it gets to me, "What?" I ask.

"That was, quite possibly, the hottest thing I have ever seen." Wait… what? She reaches out and runs the tips of her fingers up and down my forearms. "I take it that it would be inappropriate for me to jump you on this table, right?"

"…yes, Romilda."

"Damn," she mutters. "Alright, just wanted to check." She smirks as she looks back to her food, and I realize that, at least in some way, she was fucking with me. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth, and I go to eat as well.

Romilda cuts her food up into little pieces, about the size of the first joint of my thumb. Everything. She cuts her fries. She cut her sandwich into little pieces, and then stabs at the pieces with her fork and pops the little bites of sandwich into her mouth. The girl is fucking weird.

After we had eaten in silence for some time, she spoke. "So, how do you intend to expose her?"

"Well… I don't really know. I know what's going to be done, I just need to figure out how to do it." I stare out of the window at the passing cars, trying to organize my thoughts, figure out how to do what needs to be done.

"They are going to need to hire construction companies." I turn to look over to Romilda. She nods, more to herself than to me, "Ever since the world really found out about us, people have been very careful about saying, in public, that it was due to a weakness of our own. They spun the whole thing into them planning to do it. As such, what the muggles know about magic is basically limited to what we can do now. It was the real selling point to them when we first became public knowledge, that we're just like them, only a bit different.

"Since the Ambient Loss, we can't conjure things. Meaning, there's no uproar about the possibility of magical people creating wealth out of nowhere." I nod, and she continues. "I say that to say this. If we can find a way to get the records, whenever the hire the company, to show the difference in money between what they pay and how much they got…"

"Won't work." I cut her off, shaking my head. "There's any number of things that she could blame the money difference on. But…"

Ideas start racing through my head, and I'm reminded of something Luna once said to me back in school. The girls in her class had been laughing at a bit of magical theory that Luna's mother had taught her as a girl. Luna grew up believing that, and when she voiced it in class, she had been met with jeers. When I heard about it and asked her, she'd said something so simple, it seemed profound.

_Sometimes, the easiest way to make people see, is to show them_.

A month later, when Professor Flitwick had approached her and congratulated her on being one of the youngest to ever have a bit of magical theory published in their name in history, the catty little girls in her year weren't laughing anymore.

* * *

I'm amazed, sometimes, at how wide-scale tragedy effects different groups differently. In the grand scheme of things, crazy misfortune tends to draw groups of people together, it shows those people a reminder of their humanity, and everyone tends to band together as one species and help each other.

That tends to last for all of a month, give or take, depending on how big the disaster was.

When the Secrecy Wards fell, magical people were banded together as one, as the world as a whole learned about the British magical community. That lasted for about… two weeks. Eleven days, so I'm told. The time it took for the Ministry to collapse, the Aurors to step up into running things, and Narcissa to decide that – after all of a day – she didn't like how they were doing things.

The world after the blast was quite different. The money poured in to Narcissa's "Relief Fund", the more economically fortunate literally jumping over themselves to be seen as offering their help, especially the companies that were making quite a mint off of the public's panic and fear.

Narcissa bought the house, as Romilda said she would. She also ended up buying several acres surrounding it. Before the first bit of construction began at the blast site, Narcissa had outfitted her little home with quite the security system, as well as moving her Elite Guard into the large manor home. She even had construction work going to add a wing onto the Defenders Headquarters. That she was building the wing behind the large HQ, out of view and access of prying eyes or news cameras was not a fact I missed.

Romilda grew impatient. Antsy. The girl itched for confrontation, but seemed content to listen to me when I said that this wasn't the type of thing I could jump headlong into as I normally did. I didn't tell her what I planned to do, but her blind faith in me made me thankful that she was near. She didn't pester me for details or try and talk me out of anything like Pansy. She sat on the foot of the bed while I laid back with my eyes shut, and she waited. Occasionally, she would break into other motel rooms to scavenge for things that we didn't need, having an odd penchant for the cheap vases that each room was given.

Once, I had come in to find her having stacked them all into a pyramid against a far wall. She said she had had sixty one of them. She would take each one and try and levitate it for as long as she could before the magic was sucked away by the air and the vase fell to the ground. The day she started was the day after the news broadcast. Her furthest levitation was from the far wall just past the bed.

By yesterday, she was able to levitate quite a few of them down the hallway to the doors of the rooms she had taken them from.

This morning, as she places as many as she can at the doors nearby, I tell her that today is the day. The smile that slides across her face as she walks back in the room is positively _wicked_. The vases are blown up one by one, her glee growing as she destroys more and more of the cheap glass constructs.

It's kinda cute.

* * *

Lavender evades my cutter, and responds with magic that Romilda's shield blocks. I spin and turn to face away from Lavender as Romilda snakes her body under my outstretched wand arm to face the other girl, her back sliding up mine as she slips into place behind the rounded shield I snap into existence as I turn.

The sickly yellowish bolt of magic that bangs into my shield slams into it, arcs around and hits it again. And again.

Oh look, and again.

How fucking insistent _is _this goddamned spell?

Dropping the shield and yanking a brick from the wall beside me to intercept it, I lean back against Romilda's back and we rotate around again. I rotate into Romilda's concave shield, she turns into my V-shaped one.

I transfigure Romilda's shield into a flat metal blade. Just as I am about to banish it toward Lavender, Romilda's elbow digs into my back, and I turn away from it, just in time for her to swing around and magically contort my blade up to shield from Su's insistent bit of magic that apparently had evaded my brick and was swinging around for another attack.

What the _fuck_ kind of magic is that?

Romilda voices my thought aloud as I take the dented metal blade from her magical control to my own, swinging it in a wide arc and launching it toward Su, the blade lengthening into a long metal whip. The attack is batted aside, so I let the magic tether go and blast a few Cutters toward Su to distract her. Romilda's magic snatches the released metal and hurls it toward Lavender, glancing the woman's cheek with a deep cut. Before she can even finish recoiling, I've swung around and banished her back into a wall.

A heavy thud has me seeing stars, and I'm picking myself up off the ground with no memory of how I got there. When my vision returns, I see Romilda advancing on Su, backing the girl down with wave after wave of darkly colored bolts of magic. She is _seething_.

However, as Su gets her back pressed against a wall and realizes she can't back up anymore, something becomes very apparent.

Su Li is not Cho Chang.

The brick wall that Su is backing up against seemed to glint, before literally rising up to tower over Su's head like a cresting wave, and then crashing down into the space between Su and Romilda.

Fuck.

I scramble over to Romilda, who is so caught up in her attempts to fire as much destructive magic as possible at Su, that she isn't even acknowledging how much danger she's in.

I grab her from behind and yank her back against me, diving to the side and hopefully out of the way of the heavy brick wave. A slash of my wand snaps a shield in place, but I keep rolling away from it, not trusting it to hold. Romilda wiggles off of me and hops to her feet, staring hard at the crater where the wave had impacted. I lift myself to my feet, the pain in my left arm finally making its way to my brain.

Romilda isn't seething anymore.

There's a quiet realization in her eyes. She nods to me, it's a thank you that she can't quite afford to speak verbally. I press my hand to the small of her back to let her know I saw it, but also to alert her. She turns to look at me, and I motion over my shoulder. Lavender is making her way back over toward us, her first spell had impacted harmlessly into Su's brick wave as we rolled out of the way. "Take Brown, give me Li."

"You're hurt."

"Yeah, and Li is magically exhausted from that little stunt. It'll take her about the same time to stop huffing and puffing as it will for me to get my bearings. You keep Brown busy until then." It's a lie, but I tell it well enough to convince her. The soothing circles I am tracing on her lower back with my hand are a cheap ploy to get my way, but it works.

Staggering to the side, I slam my left shoulder into a low wall and feel it pop back into the socket. I slack my legs and feel my back slam into the ground painfully just in time to watch a purple lance of magic slam into the wall and destroy it, shrapnel exploding away from me. Rolling over into the billowing cloud of dust that the explosion had created, I used its cover to get back to my feet.

White bolts pierced through the smoke, blind fire that is easily countered with small shields. They're weak, but they deflect. Heavy detonations nearby tell me that Lavender and Romilda are getting more and more heated in their battle, while Su and I have yet to have a true face to face exchange.

I'm not jealous, per se.

The dust settles as I get my bearings, and I see Su across the clearing.

Rushing forward toward her, I snap as many small shields up as I can as I cover the ground between us. I counter her hailstorm of Piercers and deflect her light Blasting Charms, taking delicious pleasure in watching her eyes grow larger as I get closer and closer to her.

My feet slip on the rubble and gravel that had, at one point, been someone's garden path, sending me sliding past her. I snap up a dome-like shield that covers me from the literal corkscrew that she fires down at me as I slide past her, the dim blue magic construct easily the same width around as me. My shield collapses to the side, thankfully just as I pass from under it, and the heavy blue magic slams into the ground. Placing my hand out as I continue to slide, I swing myself around to face Su's back, wincing as the ground tears a fair amount of skin off of my left palm.

"_Diffindo,_" I intone, just loud enough for her to hear me. She snaps up a magical shield to block the spell, and watches as her shield gets blasted apart by the Cannonball Curse that I fired while she was focused on my Cutter. I move forward and lay a Banishing Charm into her stomach. A little known fact about Banishing Charms: at short range, their impact is about equal to getting hit in the stomach with a bat. She recoils and starts to fly away from me, just to be caught mid-air by my Summoning Charm. She careens back toward me, and I step to the side, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as slams into the ground and bounces at least a foot off of it from the impact.

Su Li is _not _Cho Chang.

I have to repeat that to myself as the aforementioned woman kicks my feet out from under me, and then blasts a hole into the ground inches from where my head had been a half second before. Apparently she didn't get the "not trying to kill each other" sentiment.

I cleave her Cutter in half with my own, then banish the split spell fragments away from me. The crazy bitch kicks me in the ribs, and as I'm recoiling from the impact, I see her step back to get a bit of a running start to kick me again. My Banishing Charm hits her in the plant foot, and she falls to the ground. Over her tumbling body, I see the media vans aligned on the crumbled road behind her.

Perfect.

Well, time to end this.

I roll away from her and get to my feet, tightening my hold on my wand. No sense having the media filming me fight a girl, as there's no winning there. If I beat her up, I'm an ass, if I get my ass kicked… yeah.

"Re-" I cut off her verbalized spell with a heavy Blasting Hex, which slams into the shield she snaps into place, though it knocks her back from the impact. The shield shatters with my Piercer, and the Banished rock slams into her forehead.

As she staggers to her knees, her hair spills down over her shoulders and blood starts to inch down her porcelain skin. Well, she has heart. But now isn't the time for fortitude, dammit. I banish her right knee out from under her, and her face slams into the ground. The cameras in the distance are almost set up, and I need her to stay down.

She pulls herself back up to her hands and knees and spits blood onto the ground. I sigh and send a stunner at her, and she faints to the ground. Romilda's behind me, sitting on a transfigured chair, catching her breath. She'll try to hide it from me once she realizes that I can see her in an upturned mirror some distance away, but the fight took a lot out of her, and something is wrong with her back.

"Romi."

She looks up toward me, her eyes shimmering and her hand reaching up to try and wipe away some of the blood coming from her nose. Anger slips through the cracks of my concentration, and I have to stop myself from walking over toward where I know Lavender is laying. Romilda didn't kill her- I knew she wouldn't when I told her not to - but I can be sure that Lavender's hurt, which is more than good enough. And, for what I'm planning, we need her hurt and out of the way. I just hope Romilda isn't so hurt that the gamble ends up being pyrrhic. I need her for this.

"Sir? Sir? What is this all about? Who are you?" A pretty field reporter asks, running up toward me and extending the microphone for me to answer. She almost falls as her heel gets caught in the rubble, and by the time I catch her and get her properly on her feet, the rest of the reporters are able to get nearby.

All the better for me.

I lean in close to the pretty reporter, and stage-whisper to her, "Watch."

Well, Harry… time _everything_.

* * *

Let me preface this by saying the following:

From my, admittedly _very _limited, understanding of physics, I have been able to conclude the following. Magic is both energy and mass, depending on what the spell it. I say that to say this.

Magic has weight. Depending on the spell, it can be very little, or a fair amount. Since the Ambient Loss, large feats of magic tend to be physically intensive. Banishing large objects create a physical strain, the same with summoning them. It's not a huge one, drastically less than if one tried to move something the size of say, a truck, with no assistance. Magic makes it so, banishing said truck is the equivalent of pushing it down a steep, ice-covered hill, while it's in drive.

Sweat pours down my face and mats my hair to my head and the back of my neck. Five minutes of sweat beads sit, suspended in their air, twisting and spinning in the fading sunlight, lost in a slow orbit around my wand arm.

The loud crunch of two of the fingers on my left hand snapping from the intense buck of my wand is so loud the enraptured reporters step back. Or maybe it just sounded loud because the area is so devoid of other sound that I think I can gear my own heartbeat in my ears. I can't know for sure, because my senses have been blinking on and off since I started.

Sometimes I can see the crystal blue color of the pretty reporter's eyes in the times I let my eyes wander as I breathe in deeply. Other times, I can't even make out the tip of my own wand as I is outstretched, both of my hands wrapped around it as I shakily attempt to pull its point down.

Romilda's breath tumbles over my ear and down my neck, her arms wrapped around my waist and her heartbeat thumping against my back. I try and match my breathing to her own – slow, deep breaths – but there's something about pain that makes it hard to regulates one's body.

She whispers my name soothingly, planting a kiss behind my ear and squeezing around my waist tightly. I can feel her eyes on my fingers, blood beginning to spiral around them and slip away to get lost in the dead space of gravity around me.

Another buck of my wand, my nerve endings scream in pain and the feeling of being struck by lightning courses up my legs into the pit of my stomach. _Not much longer now, Harry. You can make it._ It's not that I have a choice. Romilda's hold around me feels like fire dancing on my skin, and the sweat that runs down my face into my slack mouth tastes of salt and ash.

Yum.

I pull the wand further down, it's at chin level by now, and the distance left to go feels more like miles than feet. Miles I'm attempting to run across glass with bare feet. The ground shakes, a low wall tilting to the point where it should have crumbled, but instead it leans at a wholly unnatural angle.

Romilda's hair starts to tickle at the back of my neck, and the tickle grows into pain that has me gritting my teeth so tightly, I'm afraid they'll shatter in my mouth.

There is this moment, right before you irreparably change the world, where you become intensely aware of the fact that everything is held by strings. Thin, diamond-hard marionette strings, that are invisible, even when they're most obvious. Something about seeing that which shouldn't be seen makes it appear breathtakingly beautiful, even if it really isn't.

Some people see beauty and wish to honor it. Worship it. Preserve it.

I wonder if I was one of those people, once. In fact, I'm fairly sure I was. Once.

"You can do it, Harry. Just a bit further, and we can go home." Romilda's voice in my left ear is a deafening whisper that leaves my vision flashing out on the left eye. Her touch like metal coils encircling my body. I lean in to her and let her squeeze my tighter, a heavy breath forcing its way up through my body and out of my mouth.

My wand's tip is at about the level of the middle of my chest.

They really are quite beautiful strings.

Shame, that.

The snapping isn't so much a sound as a feeling. It starts slow. There's this rumble in the pit of the stomach, like standing on the train tracks as a train draws near. Then everything sort of rattles around in your head. Names, faces, dates, they all get jumbled around until every memory you have seems to occupy your head and the space right next to it at the same time. And then, it's gone. There's nothing.

Literally nothing.

The pop is audible. I can tell because the contingent of reporters jump. The one furthest in the back sprains his ankle, the pretty one in the front fall on her ass, and the heavyset man who showed up late and looked quite bored, actually bites _through _his tongue.

Romilda's shock is much closer to home. She tightens her hold on me, and pulls me back against her, her wide stance keeping us both braces as my heels drag a bit. I feel her head move as she looks up, my head sinks back to rest against her neck, and I fight to keep my eyes open. There is this creaking sound that reminds me intensely of old wooden stairs.

A billowing cloud of dust exploded out, and I fall backwards onto Romilda. I roll to the side, trying to displace my weight off of the thinner girl, but she holds onto me fiercely and follows the roll, putting herself on top of me with her back to the point that the dust cloud came from. Eventually things settle, and the sounds of screaming reporters dissipates long enough that I am able to get Romilda to let me up. She helps me to my feet, but slides under my arm and helps to hold me up.

My legs feel leaden.

My eyelids weigh more than I do.

My whole left arm is numb, and I can only tell that I still have my wand because it is digging so insistently into my right palm.

My jaw hurts.

And sitting some fifty feet away from me, just slightly off-center and leaning gently to the side, is a pale blue two-storey home.

And just like that, with the sound of old wood and a pop no louder than an exploded plastic bag, I changed the world. The cameras are glued to the house that has suddenly appeared, but the pretty reporter has gotten up to her feet and is pulling her slack-jawed cameraman toward me, her dirt-covered microphone pointed toward me like a weapon.

I reach up and brush at my hair self-consciously, and almost laugh aloud as I feel Romilda brushing at my shirt and shoulders, assisting me in my clean-up. "Sir, do you have anything to say about… whatever it is that we just witnessed here today?"

The world begins to get dark, and all of the beautiful strings start to fade away from view. My thoughts come rushing back too fast to comprehend, and her question bounces around in my skull several times before I say the first thing I can think of.

"Fuck you, Narcissa."


	16. Chapter 16

**So... H****i.  
Oh look! An update!  
**

* * *

"Look, Sue, before you kill me-"

Holy shit.

Susan Bones is kissing me.

Right on the lips, in front of quite a few Aurors, and Romilda.

And just as quickly as it began, it's over, and she's pushing me away from her and walking off, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. I feel kinda cheap and dirty now, a used whore who is now to get up from the bed and be on my way. At least I got kissed out of it. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, Sue, but-"

"Shut up, Harry," she says with laughter in her voice. She's moves her way back over to her desk, and plops down in her chair, leaning back and putting her feet up on her desk in an action so carefree and leisurely it obviously shocks quite a few people in the room who haven't seen their boss in such a relaxed state before. I'm used to it, but it's always nice seeing other people obviously unnerved. My acknowledgement of them has to have made Susan draw note as well, as she motions to the door and several of her Aurors file out. A few remain standing in the back, obviously higher ranking members, and Demelza goes toward the door, but stops and closes it, remaining inside. Susan says nothing, so I don't say anything either, though I am grateful that Romilda is sitting near me and nowhere near the short girl.

"Now that that is out of the way, we can get down to the real reason I asked you here." She smiles at me as she sits down at her desk.

"…And that would be?" I mutter, and she simply continues to smile. The silence is uncomfortable, and just as I prepare to ask her what she means, she leans forward slightly and I find myself distracted by the view down the front of her shirt. The slam of her fists on the desk shock me out of my staring.

"What in the _fucking hell_ did you just do, Potter!" she literally roared at me. It was quite scary, honestly. And I really need to consider the possibility that something might be wrong with me, because it was pretty hot, too. "Live fucking television, Harry? _Really?"_

"Um… would you rather I'd called ahead and got it put on a time delay?"

She gives me a look that informs me in no uncertain terms that my sarcasm is not welcome. "What _exactly_ were you hoping to accomplish with this stunt, Harry?"

"Well, it's like this…"

"Yes, tell me what it's like."

"I will if you let me speak."

"So speak."

"I was."

"Hurry up."

"I'm trying to, but-"

"Don't try, do."

"I-"

"Yes, you. Talk."

Is she being serious? Did me conjuring in an ambient magicless environment make the world tilt or something and now we're all seven-year-olds in adult bodies?

"I'm waiting, Potter." She folds her arms in an action that I suspect is meant to look intimidating, but all it really does is serve to present her chest to me more readily, and I don't even realize that I'm staring until a pen from her desk hits me in the face. She cracks a slight smile at me as I glare at her, but her mood has calmed from raging to simply annoyed. Much better for my chances of getting out of here alive.

"Well, you see…" Something in me hesitates to provide my reasoning. But fuck it, this is the woman I went to after I beat the hell out of a law officer in broad daylight in the middle of the street, if I can't tell her, who _can_ I tell? Certainly not Narcissa. "It's like this. Narcissa is out, presenting herself as the public face of the clean-up efforts. People have to work through her people to volunteer to clean up what used to be their own homes. I find it interesting that she somehow got the contract for the clean-up away from the government, and is taking all the donations to hire the workers for the rebuild and so on. Romilda here," I motion my head toward the girl, "Told me about some issues Narcissa has been having with financing for more… personal desires. So, something like this happens, which we all know she instigated, and now she gets to come in and be the hero. Money starts coming in. Do you _really_ think that she is above using the incoming donations for her own wants?"

Susan shakes her head, and I can see the realization showing in her eyes. "And she has been particularly careful about what she told the muggles about magical ability before the Loss."

Susan leans back in her chair and folds her hands together, the start of a grin on her face. "And here I was, thinking you were less the planning type and more of an act of god, Harry. How wonders never cease."

"Susan, it was less than two weeks ago that I was in your office planning…" looking around the room at all of the unfamiliar faces in the room, I raise my eyebrows at Susan, "Yeah."

"Well, don't blame me because I didn't expect you to follow through on it!" Susan brushed her hair back over her shoulders and chuckled to herself. "And oh how you did it, Harry! I could kiss you… again!"

"Well… I didn't exactly object the first time..."

Romilda growls low in her throat and jabs at me in the side with her elbow. "If you're so anxious for a kiss, I'll be happy to oblige." She said from between gritted teeth. Something about the edge in her voice tells me that it wouldn't be a kiss she would be happy to give. And if it was, I wouldn't enjoy it. Romilda has somehow managed to make me feel threatened that she would kiss me. The girl is magical, truly.

"Why, Romilda, are you… are you jealous?"

"Fuck off, Potter."

Yes, I do believe she is.

"Alright, everyone out. But don't go too far. Dem, get the press." Susan instructs. Everyone lining the walls begins to file out of the door, though Demelza stands her ground. Romilda makes no appearance of intending to move, though she does scoot over a bit closer to me so that our shoulders are just touching. She moves slightly so that our shoulders rub a slight bit before she stops moving. I guess this is her way of showing that she's over her jealous.

"Um… Ma'am?" Demelza speaks in a tone that can only be called unsure.

"What is it, Dem?"

"Permission to speak freely?" the girl asks. Susan sighs and leans over her desk and thumps her forehead against it twice before sitting up and looking at the short girl.

"Just talk."

"With all due respect, Captain Susan, I don't think that you should be left alone with the two of them. It's an issue of safety, ma'am."

"Don't worry, Robbins," Romilda begins, and I can't help but feel like she's running into this conversation with a tankard of gasoline and a lighter. "Harry isn't going to conjure a house to fall on top of her while you're gone." Demelza narrows her eyes at Romilda, as the latter adopts a wide smile. "So scamper on and do what your… _Captain, _has instructed you to do. Let the adults speak." Did… did Romilda just make a _Wizard of Oz joke? _Well I'll be goddamned…

"Why you-"

I reach out my hand to try and grab Romilda's wrist, but I'm just too slow and she is able to get her wand up and pointed at Demelza. However, her eyes drag away from the smaller girl to the side, and I follow her gaze over to Susan, who has her wand leveled directly at Romilda's chest.

Susan and Romilda stare at each other for a long, loaded moment, and the crushing feeling of awkwardness starts to choke the air out of the room. Reaching out, I pull Romilda's wrist toward me and point her wand at me. She never looks away from Susan, but as soon as the wand is pointed toward me, her hand opens and she lets it go, though her body is still obviously tensed.

"Keep your _fucking_ wand to yourself in my office, Vane." Susan is _seething_. Scary. Kinda hot. Mostly scary.

Demelza snickers, but Susan turns to stare at her, and her glare is so cold I swear the room temperature plummets. It is an interesting to see, someone with one eye glare, and normally one would assume the lack of two eyes would halve the effectiveness. At least, that's what I thought until the first time Susan glared at me. It's almost as if the eyepatch _enhances _her glare, as if all of the anger one person would normally convey with both eyes had been concentrated into one. Or, maybe that's just my natural tendency toward straddling the fence between being deeply attracted to Susan, and being slightly afraid of her. Only slightly. It hadn't always been that way, but Romilda was monopolizing most of my fear these days, so there just wasn't much left over.

"Robbins." Demelza's laughter stops dead and her mouth shuts with an audible click. "Go get the bloody press to my office right now, and I will not abide by any more dalliance." Demelza practically runs out of the room, metaphorical tail between her legs. Susan slams her wand down on the top of her desk, pulls her hair back with both hands and breathes out loudly. With her eye closed and her voice low, she speak again. "Harry, keep her under control." She releases her hold on her hair and a curtain of crimson hair tumbles down like flowing water to hide her head and muffle the strangled "Please," that followed what had been said like an order.

Romilda moves closer to me and is silent, though she stares at Susan for a pregnant moment, as if sizing the woman up. Romilda nods once and places her hands folded neatly in her lap without a word. I was aware that she'd somehow managed to sandwich one of my hands between hers where it rested, but I didn't want to upset this apparent agreement of peace from the crazy girl by removing it. Susan breaks the silence with a loud sigh as she places her forehead on her desk with a soft _thump_. "The press will be here soon, Harry. Time to do some pre-emptive damage control."

"What do you mean?"

"Narcissa's not going to take this lying down. Though, I really wish she would. Lay down and stay down… preferably beneath a pile of dirt and rocks in an unmarked grave somewhere. Like behind my house." Susan shakes her head and sits back, turning so she is looking at me. "She's going to try and use what you did to make it seem as if you were the one who caused the explosion in the first place. And I need to have us making a statement saying that you aren't, at least soon enough that she can't finish the statement she intends to make. Save your sorry ass from getting skewered."

A grin slides across my face as I consider what Susan is intending to do. On the one hand, she is covering my ass from an obvious and inevitable attack, as she said. But on the other hand, she is getting to make Narcissa look incompetent and predictable. Beautiful on both accounts.

"Well, then let's do it," I agree.

"Right here, in my office, Harry?" Susan says in a mocked shock. "In front of Romilda? That's not very considerate of you!"

"Oh, you know me, Sue. I've always had a thing for you and that desk," I join the game, though I regret it quickly as Romilda takes to squeezing my hand between hers, just so I know she's less than amused.

"Oh, the _desk!_ Kinky, Potter, kinky." Romilda continues to squeeze my hand, and it starts to hurt. But, at least it was my hand, and she wasn't going for her wand… I didn't much care to be in the middle of a throw-down between her and Susan, it could only end badly for me. "Oh calm down, Vane," Susan rebukes, brushing at her hair absentmindedly. "If I wanted him, I could have had him long, long ago."

"My heart, Susan. You hurt it," I interject, which brings a smile to her lips.

"Just telling your guard dog there to not going trying to leap at me."

"I'm no one's dog," Romilda barks out. I keep that joke to myself for life-preservation purposes. "Besides, I'm not that worried." Susan arches an eyebrow at this proclamation. Romilda wasn't exactly presenting the 'unworried' visage she was claiming, so I didn't blame Susan for calling bullshit with the use of her eyebrow – Susan was good like that. "Given what I've heard about you, Lady Captain," I caught the dark-haired girls slips curl up out of the corner of my eye, and instinctively put my head down. This wouldn't end well. "You'd be far more likely to want _me_ pinning you to your desk than Harry anyways."

Thank whatever deity there was for the press showing up at Susan's door at just that moment. Had they not, I doubt whatever 'pinning' that would have happened in the following moments between her and Romilda would have been of the sexual variety.

Still would have been hot as fuck, though.

* * *

I have it on good authority that the look on Narcissa's face when she found out just what was going on in a split-screen during her televised press conference would have curdled fresh milk. The fact that her press-conference was muted not even midway through in lieu of playing the audio from ours couldn't have made it any better, either.

Susan smiles at me as the parade of news organizations leave the building, and makes an exaggerated motion of dusting off her hands. "Let's see how the bitch likes _that!_"

"Because you're all about how another woman reacts to what you do," Romilda mutters from her corner of the room, her eyes gazing up toward the ceiling and a ghost of a grin on her full lips.

"Kindly go fuck yourself, Vane," Susan says, cheerfully.

"Why? Are you wishing to watch me do so, Bones?" Romilda replies, equally upbeat, her eyes sliding away from the ceiling down to Susan's general area.

"Yes." Susan responds succinctly.

"So hot," I interject, and immediately feel three eyes glaring at me. "Oh, I'm sorry ladies. Am I not a welcome addition in your Sapphic, passive-aggressive flirting? Did I distract you from eventually jumping on each other and deciding once you've done it if you want to rip each other's hair out or clothes off? Oops. Silly me."

"No worries, Harry," Romilda assuages me, "You're welcome to join in." She pauses for a beat, and gives a nearly feral, teeth-baring smile. "As long as you only join in with your words, and don't move from where you're standing."

"You wound me, Romi."

"You deserve it," she replies, and I shrug my shoulders. I can't argue that much. "So now what, Sue?"

"Now, you leave my office and resume doing whatever it is that you do in your off-time to make this world a better place. Preferably doing so in such a clandestine way as to ensure that I never have to know anything about it. Do you know my favorite words are when it comes to you, Harry?"

"There's a dirty joke in here somewhere, isn't there?" I ask rhetorically, and Susan continues as if I never said anything at all.

"Plausible deniability. If I don't know what you and Psycho Girl over there are up to, then no one can come to me and demand an explanation for why I let you get up to it."

"So… as long as we don't tell you what we're going to get up to tonight, you won't do anything to stop it, then?" Romilda questions.

"Tonight?" I ask.

Her eyebrows incline slightly, and I let out a sigh, catching her meaning.

"I know where you are going with this, Vane, and I shall refrain from making any comment one way or another," Susan says diplomatically. "But Harry, I do hope you'll use your head." Even as the words leave Susan's mouth, she's placing her palm over her face and turning away. "Can't believe I just said that…" she mutters as she walks back around toward her desk. "Out, the both of you. I'm going to get drunk and hit the town to celebrate."

Romilda stands and heads toward the door, and I follow her wearily. It wasn't until I actually started moving that I realized just how exhausted I was, and if the state of Romilda's clothes and body were any indicator, both of us looked like several levels of hell got together to form a super-level, which then shat us out. But even in her apparent pain and exhaustion, Romilda was going to be Romilda. "Don't keep poor Demelza out too late, Susan. She's still young, and will need more time to recover from your nighttime activities before she had to come into the office in the morning." The start of this could be seen at least faintly harmless, if one squinted. But Romilda wasn't done. And she did nothing by halves. "I don't think the 'I just had my brains fucked out by my boss' look would be good for the first day after something like this. Intense scrutiny and all."

The brunette walks out of the office without another word, and before Susan can get a response even started. I notice as I follow that Susan –while scowling and clearly ready to scream and lash out – is clearly sporting flushed cheeks and a very flustered look about her. Romilda had clearly found a way to get under her skin.

"Don't look at me like that, Harry," Romilda chides as I follow behind her slightly-rolling hips down the corridor from Susan's office. "It was sound advice."

"I know. After today, and what we just did, everyone's going to be watching the Aurors. From the lookie-loos watching to see what happens next, to the people Narcissa will hire to watch and try and find something to swing public opinion back toward her. Not to mention the bitch and her Elite Guard themselves, trying to find something to exploit to get to Susan, with less gentle intentions than trying to stage a public opinion coup. We just painted a target right on her door with this."

"If she didn't want to be a target for Narcissa, she got into the wrong job," Romilda points out. "Bones can look out for herself."

"I know," I agree. "Don't think I didn't notice you backing down to her."

Romilda falters before walking on again. "I don't know what you're talking about, Harry."

"Sure you don't," I say dismissively. We walk on and get into the elevator at the end of the hallway, and I'm thankful to the small little metal box, because there's no real way she can give me her back and hide her face from me. "It's alright to be afraid of her, Romi."

"I'm not afraid of her," Romilda barks out, angrily. "Why would I be afraid of _her_?"

Romilda's pride is almost a physical object, sometimes. It's a very real, powerful thing that – when called on – seems to sit in whatever room she's in like a huge chunk of heavy metal, daring anything to attempt to harm it.

"I'm kind of afraid of her, honestly," I confess, and a long moment of silence follows the proclamation.

"Why?"

"Susan's a very powerful, extremely capable woman."

"You say that like you aren't up to your neck in those, Potter," Romilda mutters out from between clenched teeth.

"I'm not simply talking magically, Romi," I chide gently. "Susan… she's scary sometimes. Do you not think it weird that a woman my age ascended the entire Auror organization as quickly as she did? That seniority seemed to have gone right to hell when Susan hit the door and there aren't a bunch of people who've been in the department for decades sitting around grumbling and trying to undermine her? Legacy only goes so far before eventually it's all about how good you are at what you do."

"So you're afraid of how good she is at the politics? She frightens you with her superior hobnobbing, fundraising and ass-kissing abilities?" Romilda sounds almost… bitter.

"I've seen Susan tear through a handful of upper-middle ranking Defenders, by herself." Romilda opens her mouth to comment, but I hold up a hand. "And then she navigated the proper channels and brought up just the right Auror code to get off for doing it with not only no punishment, but a promotion in the process.

"I'm not afraid of her for individual things, Romilda. I'm wary of Susan because of everything that makes her who she is. And I'm afraid of what would have happened if it was someone as capable as herheading the Defenders, instead of Narcissa." The elevator stops, but I make my last point before I leave it. "It is healthy to have a respectful fear of the strength of your allies. It's the only time when it's ok to fear someone and do nothing about it; when you're on the same side." I walk out of the elevator, but keep my steps slow and properly paced until I can hear Romilda coming up behind me.

We get to the door out of the Auror building, but even through the small windows in the big wooden doors that stand outside of the lobby, I can see the contingent of media standing in wait.

"It doesn't do to underestimate Narcissa, Harry," Romilda says, her voice low.

"I don't underestimate her."

"You do," Romilda responds, more forcefully. "She…" She lets out a huffing sigh, and I can tell she doesn't want to admit to whatever she is about to say. "She's a large part of why I am who I am today."

"Why? Did she take you to her stylist, who told you how flattering dark hair is against your pale skin? Which led to you avoiding the sunlight so you could get the proper porcelain-skin thing going?" Her cheeks color slightly, and she turns her head away from me in a cute, demure kind of way. "Because if so, I'll have to thank her whenever I see her. You know, before I blow her head off her shoulders so she doesn't claw my eyes out and make a necklace out of them."

"Don't flatter me, Harry."

"Why?"

"Because it doesn't fit you, and it doesn't fit me," she responded, shortly. "Seeking to inflate my ego serves to do nothing for either of us."

"Well, I could argue it does something for us both."

She shoots me a look that clearly tells me it's time to shut my mouth so she can continue talking. When a mass-murdering sociopath gives you that look, it tends to be a good idea to shut up and let them talk. I've personally given more than my fair share of these looks, and always find myself less homicidal when people proceed to shut their mouths immediately following them.

"Narcissa taught me much, but there was even more she kept to herself. Susan is formidable… more so than any other woman I have ever met. But let me assure you, Narcissa holds all those qualities that you appreciate in that one-eyed redhead up there in spades, and still navigates the waters of politics like she was born to those seas, gills and all."

"You're really scared of her, aren't you?" I ask. She shrugs in response.

"More than I should be," she admits. "But don't worry. When we get to her, it's not going to stop me from being right beside you, protecting those gorgeous eyes of yours." The last bit she says with a slight upturn in her lips that lets me know she's getting back at me for my compliment earlier. I let it pass – it only seemed fair. No sense drawing it out into a full on compliment-war.

"I'd understand if it did," I start, but Romilda cuts me off, her voice resolute and almost harsh.

"It won't." She looks away from me, and a faint smile covers her lips again. "Besides, I'm far more afraid of you than I am of her!" She proclaims and then motions her head toward a side door that we should be able to use to get free from the Auror office without meeting as much of the press as if we'd gone through the main doors.

"There will probably be some people at that door," I say as we near it.

"If they impede us, I'll just kill them." I glare at her, and she pokes her bottom lip out in a pout. "Fine. I'll just knock them over."

"That's better."

"You're no fun, Harry."

"Nope, none at all," I agree.

* * *

The person who tells me about Narcissa's face is Padma Patil. Though I'm the only one who should be aware that it is Padma and not her sister Parvati. She showed up at some point early in the morning the day after Romilda and I left Susan's office, and I have no idea how she found us. I can only hope Susan told her, because the alternative would be that Narcissa and her people know more than they should.

When I return from going to get a cup of coffee for her, I find the woman in question sitting at a table across the room from Romilda, glaring at the other girl darkly. I sit the coffee down in front of Padma and she nods her thanks at me, though her eyes never leave Romilda.

"A problem here, ladies?"

"No, no problem at all," Padma says, shortly. "I just wasn't aware that you had taken to harboring insane women in your hotel room."

"Would you rather I harbor her in someone else's hotel room?" I ask, though no one laughs or even shows a faked smile at my bad attempt at humor. "You know me, Padma. I always had a thing for the ones everyone said were crazy."

As soon as the words left my mouth, Padma averts her eyes from Romilda and looks at a plot of empty wall across the room, her mouth falling slack at my blasé mention of Luna. "You would compare her to…" Padma trails off and shakes her head. "What's happened to you, Harry?"

"She saved me from Narcissa, Pad," I confess. "When no one else could have, or was going to."

The dark-skinned girl clenches her teeth and I can see the muscles in her jaw flexing. "I couldn't have done anything," she stresses, and I nod reassuringly.

"I know. But I trust her, so calm down and say whatever you need to say."

She took a steadying breath and then said, quickly, "Narcissa has gotten worried. She wants to ward her properties – especially her newest private acquisition. Which is-"

I cut her off to save time. "We know."

"You… know?" She says, slowly and apprehensively. Romilda and I both nod. "I wasn't aware Narcissa shared so much with you," Padma stated, speaking pointedly at Romilda for the first time. "I can see why she'd be so handy to have around, Harry. Quite the coup for Susan."

"I am not Susan's victory," Romilda barks out.

Padma decides not to respond to the outburst – which is the best decision she's made since she walked in the door – and instead continues speaking. "Narcissa is going to need a lot of _something _to power these protections she wants to get up to keep people out of her business."

"And by something-" I start,

"You mean blood," Romilda finishes. Padma nods. "Which means she's going to need to get enough people to part with the blood needed for the warding. What kind of ward set is she trying to-"

"Lavender seems to think it's the same set that was on the Defender building a few year back before they got too weak," Padma says, the two clearly talking to each other.

Romilda whistles at the news. "That would take a lot of people."

"A lot of people?" I ask. "I don't know much about these kinds of wards, but why not just drain a few until…"

"One person's blood can only hold so much power, Harry," Padma explains, gently. Something in her eyes shows that she's quite pleased with my lack of knowledge to the basics of using a person as a battery. "You start overdoing it, and you either need to redo the wards far too often as the… magic in the blood gets burned through too quickly…" She pauses and takes a steadying breath, "Or you risk utter collapse of the warding system as a whole if enough magic is slammed into them."

I repressed a shudder. Ward collapse is _not _something to fuck around with. It wasn't back when there was ambient magic to buffer against the backlash from the collapse. Without it, it's like it happened in a vacuum, and… "Catastrophic ward collapse on a property that big could turn the property she bought,"

"And that of her neighbors on all sides," Romilda adds,

"Into a crater in the fucking ground." I reconsider the situation and then can't fight the shudder.

"You're forgetting that that backlash would lead to cascading ward failure of anything nearby," Romilda adds, grimly. Well… more grim than her normal voice is.

"Can't think about that now," I say, trying to cut the whirlwind of possibilities short before they overtake my head. "So she's going to need a lot of people to bleed dry so she can feel a little safer. I take it she won't be cruising around town in a van, snatching random magical people off the street in broad daylight under the guise of offering candy, then?" Padma shakes her head. "Of course not. Because that'd make this too easy."

"It won't be hard, Harry. If she needs people, there's one place she's going to get them from. Likely not her personally, but… it's not hard to know where." She pauses for a moment and I can feel her eyes boring into mine intently. "There's a place, out in Wales. Specializes in selling things that are dubious, if not outright illegal. It has been set up for decades now, originally a muggle-owned place. It remained low profile because they obviously don't advertise and word of mouth on these kinds of things is slow. Also… It's in Wales. No one wants to just wander into Wales and see what underworld they find there." It seems Padma isn't a fan of our Welsh brethren. And the look on Romilda's face at the mention of the location shows she isn't exactly ecstatic over the idea of heading there either. "But when the Loss happened… Well. Businessmen will be businessmen. Wasn't as big a leap to go from illegal firearms, drugs and other things I try not to even think about, to that as well as alchemical supplies, regulated potions, secondhand wands…" She takes a breath in her listing, and visible steels herself. "Blood, organs, living people…"

I'd seen where she was going, but hearing the words come out was still chilling. "So Narcissa is going to go shopping… for people? Does she just walk by and load them into a big shopping trolley or something? Does she get a discount for buying in bulk?" Padma looks ready to snap at me for making light of the situation, but what else can I do? "I mean come on, Padma. What am I supposed to say? How can I take this at face value. It can't just be that easy to procure human beings that are in any proper shape to be sold like packaged bundles of Ramen noodles, I refuse to believe that."

"You'd be surprised," Romilda interjects. "I mean, look how easily people can disappear these days." She gives me a pointed look, and I can do nothing but nod. I'd made a few people disappear – short term or otherwise – and no one had showed up knocking at my double doors at the bank attempting to question me on my whereabouts. Not even the time when someone's head got perforated in the middle of an Alley that only I was known to occupy regularly. And that was an easy one to solve if anyone at all was even trying. "Most people don't care, and the ones that do care have too much else to deal with."

"True," I agree. "If it's an illegal operation, then there has to be a large possibility that these people have all been kidnapped. Held against their will."

"With families wondering what happened to them. It could be a huge blow to Narcissa, even if we don't get there in time, to get these people back. Publically," Romilda notes.

"Hold on," Padma interrupts. Romilda and I both turn to look at her, and she continues, "Before you go getting your political character assassination helmets back on, let me say this. While it is very likely some of them are kidnapped, I know with all certainty that that isn't the case for all of them."

Romilda leans forward from her seat on the cushy recliner, interest clear on her face. "With certainty?"

Padma nods. "Some magical families fell apart with the Ambient Loss. Hell, most of them did, especially the ones that had no ties to the muggle world. And I'm sure you can understand why, Harry." No one ever lets me live down the fact that I was basically playing sentinel dragon on most of the wealth of magical England. It's really not very fair. So I pranced around on a bunch of gold coins and maintained a reputation to the point where even people who knew me in school were too afraid to come anywhere near me. That doesn't make the lack of magical funding throughout the world _entirely _my fault! "There are those that decided that the only thing of value they had to part with, after homes and heirlooms were sold and their attempts to handle employment in this new world of theirs were met with disdain, was the magic within their blood." Padma sounds disgusted at the idea of what she's talking about.

"If you're this outraged over this, you'd hate to find out what other fluids get sold every day in muggle circles," I mutter, and she responds by glaring at me out of the corner of her eye.

"You don't get it, Harry. They're muggles, we're not talking about them," Padma clarifies, and I hold back pointing out how bad what she said sounds in favor of letting her continue to make her point. "We have people out here selling their _blood_. They are whoring out what makes them magical – for money!"

"Money to eat. To live," I point out. She sneers at me and I hold my hands up. "Hey, I hate what blood is being used for as much as the next guy, likely more than even you do. I've had to deal with it being used against me, instead of living in comfort under the protection of the wards set up using it." A low blow against Padma if there ever was one, but she's looking at me like I don't know how 'this new world' operates. "But I don't hate the people who have nothing left but that. I'd much rather lay into the people making the purchases."

"Nobility is all well and good," Romilda points out, "But it doesn't tell us what we're going to do about this."

"I thought it was obvious." I smile at her and give her a wink for good measure. "What else is there to do between the two of us but go make sure Narcissa doesn't get her human power supply?" A smile spreads over Romilda's lips, and she stands up and all but flounces into the next room to prepare herself.

Padma watches her go, and actually lets out a bit of a chuckle. "That girl is insane."

"Quite," I agree.

"You fit each other." She looks over at me and tilts her head quizzically. "I haven't seen you like this since…" Her name hangs unspoken in the room, and Padma clearly doesn't want to say it.

"She's not her, Padma. I'm not looking to find a replacement for Luna."

"The way you're carrying on, I figure…" She makes a noncommittal motion with her hands and shoulders as if she was physically presenting the rest of her unspoken sentence, though she says nothing else.

"Just say whatever you're still here to say." I growl out, knowing that Padma isn't the type to dally about after saying what she has to say to me. It's far too dangerous for her to be seen with me for her to waste time she doesn't have. "We have work to do."

"So you're 'we' now?" I glare at her at her comment, and she takes a breath. "Just be careful with her, Harry. Her and Narcissa…" Again she trails off, and it begins to grate. Badly.

"Just speak," I bite out. "You're in a bad situation that benefits from you being paranoid about anything and everything. But I know what I'm doing, and you of all people should know that I can handle myself. That I'll do what I must in order to survive."

She goes very quiet and looks down at her hands. The silence extends for a long, loaded moment, and then her voice comes out softly. "Parvati wants to see you."

The air left the room abruptly.

"But… but why?" I choke out.

"She saw what happened yesterday on the news. I don't know what she wants to say – it's her business and not mine – but she asked me to pass the message on to you. Only right I did it." She stands up and smoothes imaginary wrinkles out of her khaki skirt, avoiding my eyes. "I hope you'll go see her, Harry. She… She sounds like she's doing better than I expected, and she said a long time ago that once she was in a better place, she hoped to be able to speak to you."

The silence settles again, but we both know I won't deny Parvati the closure she needs. After some time, though, I agree to the request.

"I thank you, Harry. For both my sister and myself. I think both of you need it… need the healing it can provide. You more than ever, I think." She turns her head and gives a momentary look in the direction Romilda had walked off in before turning away and reaching out to grab the door handle to leave. "I just ask that when you see her, you do it alone."

"Of course."

She disappears out of the room, and as the door closes Romilda comes back in from the bathroom, fully dressed and holding her coat. A subdued version of her normally devious grin decorated her face, and there is still the glint of insanity in her eyes. That was reassuring to see.

Wait…

"Romilda?"

"Harry?"

"Are you… wearing make-up?"

She smiled coquettishly and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Just a little bit." She tilted her head to the side and her dark hair spilled over her shoulder, the curtain of it helping to provide a sharp enough contrast to her pale skin that I could see what clearly had to be a bit of faint eye shadow and lipstick at the very least.

"…You put on make-up for our trip to the black market?"

"Maybe I can get some information by batting my eyelashes." She displays this very point by batting her long, darker-than-usual eyelashes toward me. "And if that doesn't work, maybe I'll open someone's neck up from ear to ear in front of everyone around and use their blood as blush for my cheeks. Between the two, we'll get what we need." She gave me an exaggerated wink as punctuation.

"Well, every little bit helps… I guess," I say as I stand up to go get my coat so we can head out.

Romilda's make-up didn't concern me too much. Knowing her, it'd be buried under a layer of blood before the day was out, so there was no sense in thinking too deeply about it. Though I can't help wonder about the slightly clingy white T-shirt she slipped on underneath her coat. White wasn't a color to wear when preparing for a large amount of bloodshed for good reason. Romi never struck me as someone who was impractical, at least in terms of everything but her love of aforementioned excessive bloodshed.

No matter how nice she looked in it – and even with the little I could see between the lapels of her coat I knew she looked _very _nice in it – it just didn't fit that she'd wear it.

Something was going on that I wasn't party to. And I _hate _that.

* * *

Almost daily, I find myself newly amazed by the depths people are willing to sink to in the pursuit of power. Using another person's blood to power wards… that's one thing. But this…

"_Fuck._"

Romilda's body sways softly and she brushes against my side with the languid motion, but not even the feel of her gentle pressure is enough to make what I'm seeing any less sickening. Given the random intervals of shocked gasps from her as her dark eyes scan the perimeter of the large marketplace that looked displaced from the shadows of a castle in the Dark Ages, I have a feeling that her touching me isn't just to try and calm my own frayed nerves.

When something that you are looking at draws a disgusted, disapproving reaction from an insane woman who you have personally seen gleefully decapitate someone just because they were standing in her way and then kick their head around like a ball, the severity of what you are witnessing hits home just that much harder.

Padma hadn't been kidding around. The place is huge, a veritable open-air bazaar for all things illegal, unsavory, or just downright strange. And there are more people milling around between the stalls than I have seen walking the streets of any once-magical community in years. The air is practically abuzz with the sound of people buying, selling, arguing and negotiating. But an air of danger hangs overhead, as if letting any nearby know that you can only get so worked up in your attempts to get the best deal before you draw the unwanted attention of the scowling guards interspersed throughout.

Leather jackets, sunglasses, wands and handguns… the cliché is strong in those men.

I feel Romilda tap my leg with her hand, and I follow where she's looking and can feel anger start to bubble up in my stomach. Some distance away, lining the wall of what looks to be a dilapidated hangar that serves as the right wall to the section of the market we're in, were three rows of bodies. People.

Men. Women. _Children._

With boards hanging around their necks, advertising their selling price.

"Harry?" I look over toward my dark-haired companion and her eyes communicate a hell of a lot more than she could hope to with her clear loss for words. I could understand; long ago when I was still able to be shocked by this world that had sprouted from the ashes of the one I had grown to love and be awed by all those years ago, I'd probably have been either frozen in shock, or pulling my wand ready to go slinging magic around to play hero.

I wasn't that man anymore. "We can't do anything right now, Romilda. If we cause a disturbance, these guards will converge on us. When we take them down, more will come. You of all people should know that."

She gives me that annoying pout of hers, and looks over toward the man standing against the wall by the cage of people. "Come on. Couldn't I just kill one of the guards? I'll be gentle."

"How do you gently kill someone?"

Her smile in response is a whole new kind of horrifying.

"Now isn't the time," I bite out, needing to reach out and grab hold of her wrist as she starts walking toward the people-market up ahead.

"Let me go, Harry," she demands.

"No, I'm not going to have you making a scene. We're here to try and find whoever Narcissa is sending to…"

Romilda yanks her hands free and then closes the distance between us, until I can feel her breath washing over my face. Her dark eyes burn heatedly into mine, and I don't know if she's going to kiss me, or bite a chunk of my face off. She stays violating my personal space, and then I hear her voice. "Over my right shoulder."

Standing across the clearing were two women I recognized very well. "Shit."

"You can say that again," Romilda says. So, I do.

Which is all I get the chance to do, before Lavender looks over and spots me.

"Romi, get your wand out," I mutter to her as, some distance away, Mandy Brocklehurst pokes the shorter woman that's standing beside her to alert her to our presence. Romilda responds by poking me in the stomach with her wand and flashing me a wicked grin. I sigh as Su Li turns at the prompting and her dark eyes fall on me. "This is an awful idea."

"Oh Harry, but it will be _so _fun," she breathes out happily.

"Don't do anything until they do. Maybe we can get out of this without any trouble," I say, though by the look in Su's eyes as she turned toward me, I can't realistically see this ending in any way other than a fight.

"But if we make the first attack then…"

"No, Romilda. We aren't going to be the cause of a big fight."

"Bit late for that," she mutters. I get the shield up about a second later, and probably milliseconds before the sickly grey bolt of magic would have slammed into Romilda's back. Even still, the force behind it is so heavy I have to fight against it to keep the both of us standing.

"See, Harry, they hit first. Now we have to kill them."

What can I say to that, really? It's true. The next spell that's fired our way, Romilda spins around and deflects. It digs a scar into the lightly-grassed earth beneath our feet and destroys a table holding an assortment of laid out assault rifles that had been on display. Su Li apparently is not in the mood to fuck around.

Romilda glances from me to the destroyed earth beneath us and then back again.

"Fine," I agree, and off she goes, to traipse through the flowers and probably peel intestines out of someone's stomach with her bare hand. Or some other craziness, which Romilda isn't particularly lacking in.

And before I even realize what's happening, I'm being yanked in right behind her into that gravitational field of insanity that Romilda exudes just so wonderfully, as Lavender sends a lance of purple magic careening wildly in the general direction of my head.

I was hoping for at least a 'hello' from her. Or maybe just for her to be the reasonable one, in remembering that the last time the four of us had a meeting, it ended less well for them than it did for us. But alas, that shall teach me to leave a job unfinished. Besides, though she has yet to make an offensive move, the addition of Mandy to this situation could wildly swing it in their favor. Well, not wildly. My side has two insane people who no longer just need to hold them off while waiting for the news cameras to show up. Romilda for one looks very eager to get to play for keeps.

"Harry?" Romilda asks, her wand flicking this way and that as she snaps up small shields that deflect Su's spells just enough to keep them from hitting her. "Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me kill these three?"

"Would you prefer I left them to you?" I respond, and even as she moves away from me, I can see the faint smile on her lips.

"Oh Harry, would you? That would be simply _lovely_." And as punctuation to her statement, her tongue flicks out and licks at her lips. It was braggadocio, and both of us knew it. As powerful as she might be, with her instability only adding to that, even Romilda knows that if she tries to go against Lavender and Su by herself they'll rip her apart without a single qualm between the two of them, and that's not even counting if Mandy decides to leap in from the sidelines instead of just standing there staring as her colleagues move make their approach toward us. Luckily, Romilda knows that going in alone isn't something she has to worry about.

Lavender's focus is on Romilda, who is playing the perfect distraction by drawing them both toward her and doing nothing but playing defense. Which allows my entry into the back and forth to be something that could probably only be properly described as… dynamic.

To put it simply: I hit Lavender with a wooden kiosk. And then hit her with it two more times while she was on the ground. And then I dropped the wooden stand on her for good measure. Without missing a beat, Romilda flicked her wand in the downtime allowed her between Su's casts – which would normally be taken up by Lavender's – and set the wooden kiosk on fire. Lavender screamed from under it, her wand a foot away from her and the weight too much for her to lift up.

Mandy chose that moment to get herself involved. She banishes the wooden structure off of Lavender and sends it careening in Romilda's direction at a speed that very nearly snuffs the flames out. I could understand the rationality behind such a bold move at a time that wasn't exactly the most tactically opportune; she's attempting to make a statement with her entry into the battle, just as I myself had. She wants to not be underestimated or overlooked in this battle of what she has to see as heavyweights.

Foolish, childish notions.

I slash my wand down and stop the stand before it can reach Romilda through nothing but sheer force of will and a fair bit more magic that I probably should have expended. But if statements are being made, then by god I'm Harry fucking Potter, and I'll be damned if anyone makes one louder than me.

"Oi! You! Brocklehurst!" I call out, and she flinches. She actually _flinches_. "That wasn't very polite, what you just did."

She steels herself and squares her shoulders, preparing to call back out to me. She never gets the chance. Romilda's spell catches her in the stomach and sends her a dozen yards away, any scream she might have made dead in her throat, assisted by the fact that her lungs had ceased to function. What, with them landing about a dozen feet away from where her body came to a stop, giving a few final pumps before falling still for the last time.

Everything stops as all four of us take in the dead girl laying some distance away, her short brown hair fanning around her head, and her large eyes wide in shock. The last expression she'll ever have.

Almost as one, three of us turn and look at Romilda, and I swear to any powers that there might be that Romi's reaction is the most blasé shrug I have ever seen in my life and says, by way of explanation, "She tried to hit me!" The silence that follows is one of those things that will stay with me for the rest of my life. It was all I could do to not break it by laughing, as Su and Lavender's faces seemed to be warring to see who could pull off looking the most outraged.

"It… it's a fight, you psychotic whore!" Lavender screeches, having lost the outraged-face contest to Su, who seems to have been stricken speechless.

"Indeed. And she lost," Romilda replies like it's the most simple thing ever. And in a way, it is.

"She was just a trainee!" Lavender yells, and her wand becomes a blur of motion as spells leave it a mile a minute, almost none of them properly aimed but all of them filled to the brim with power. The air sizzles and leaves the smell of burnt ozone in the wake of the spell that just misses my head. "A kid!"

Romilda dives to the side and rolls on the ground, covering the ground between us quicker than I've seen her move in some time. The urgency of getting clear of Lavender's wrath must have really clicked in her head. Romilda is the stylish prance type. The stalking runway-walk type. Her pressing her body up against mine while dropping a heavy shield down in front of us speaks volumes about the respect she has for Lavender's ability, even if she never will admit it.

I pull on my own magic and thump a wedge shield down in front of us and pull Romilda in closer to me, and she responds by collapsing her shield down, and letting out a series of panting breaths. The exertion of keeping a shield up with that much power has already started to take its toll on her, and Romi was no weakling, power-wise.

Lavender was pissed, it would seem. And Su had started sending her own spells at some point as well.

"So, how do you want to play this, Harry?" Romilda asks, trying to keep a smile evident in her voice. I'm not fooled.

One particular spell hits my shield and makes a visible crack in it, which begins to pulse and angry red color. Which I have never seen happen before in the entire time that I've been casting that shield.

"Kill them, I suppose."

Romilda gives a nod, and without a single moment of hesitation I go left around my shield, she goes right, and the spellfire stops being just one-sided.

Lavender locks on Romi immediately, despite being lined up directly across from me. She pays for it by eating a Bone-Shattering spell right to her left side, and I can actually see her ribs collapse into her body. It's a gruesome sight.

I pay for that score by taking a glancing cutter to the side of my face from Su. Romi tossed up a shield just fast enough to keep it from bisecting my head, but the blood starts to run down my cheek in earnest.

It wasn't going to be a long, stalling, drawn-out battle like last time. Short, dirty, and dangerous. The way magical throwdowns are supposed to be, damn it!

"Avada-" Lavender starts to shout, and then her voice gives out on her halfway through. At least one of her lungs in punctured, and she won't be shouting any killing curses, that's for damned sure. She kneels down holding her side, and it keeps her head attached to her body as my cutter careens right over her head to slice through several of the stands behind her and send canopies toppling down on the heads of the few people still nearby. And by 'few' I mean _very_ few.

I toss a quick, overpowered Burrowing Charm in Su's direction while strafing to the side and closer to Lavender. Su stops to bat it aside and takes a bludgeoner to her kneecap from Romilda. She pitches forward and hits the ground with her face, hard. She rolls to the side and I can't see if Romi's follow-up hits as Lavender swings her attention toward me and swipes her wand wide and horizontal.

And rips a section of the earth up about the size of a mid-sized car and tries to hit me with it. She damn near succeeds, too.

I stumble back out of the way and fall on my ass, and have to maneuver into something too ugly to be properly called a backwards somersault to get away from the rift in the earth that she'd ripped up that seemed intent on devouring my legs.

"Harry!" Romi's voice calls out, piercing the grating sound of earth rubbing against stone like a crack of lightning. A body slams into the side of me and we tumble to the left a couple of times, and as we roll I feel the ground shake as something heavy slams into it.

We come to a stop and I can feel Romi breathing hard against me. She still has her hold on her wand, and a purely spot-check of the feel of her body against mine tells me she still has all of her body parts. Good.

On instinct I push myself away from Romilda, which shoves her away from me in the opposite direction, and we both just manage to clear the downward spiral of fire that drills into the earth where we had both been laying moments before.

"Not playing around today, eh Lav?" I shout out as I get back up and plop down another wedge shield to give myself a moment, also hoping to draw the fire so Romilda can get herself back up.

"Your crazy bitch killed Mandy, Potter. Of course I'm not fucking around!" She barks out.

"To be fair…"

"Sod fairness!" She screeches. "There is no fairness in war."

"Fair point," I call out, as my shield continues to take a battering. "But do you really think it's going to end well for you if you keep churning spells out like that? I mean, it's not like they're doing any-" my cocky comment dies in my throat as my shield collapses with no warning. I hit the ground and magic careens over my head.

"Stop hiding and fight me, you coward!" Lavender screams. "Is _this _the man we are supposed to be afraid of? The one we were told never to approach on our own? Ha! The psychotic defector seems more fearsome than you. Who are you but a name? All I see is shields and scared chatter."

Su's voice rings out over the silence, as she vocalizes a pair of spells that I don't recognize, and punctuates the separate incantations with the Killing Curse. And of all the things I expect to hear after someone gets that spell flung at them, I almost laugh when I hear Romilda actually verbally scoff.

"Harry. Get up and kill her before I do it for you," Romilda snaps. I spare a glance over toward her and see her standing some distance away, her back straight and her shoulders squared. Su was tossing spells and Romilda was batting them away just to toss her own. It looked like some insane game of tennis, where if you missed a deflection you died.

I stand to my feet and lock eyes with Lavender. She too was watching the back and forth between Romilda and Su, but her face holds worry. There had been a slight sheen of sweat on Su's brow when I'd glanced over, and a couple of times, a few of Romilda spells had gotten dangerously close. Lavender seems to be noticing that same thing.

She raises her wand in Romi's direction and something snaps in me – I can feel it when it does. Like some tether finally got pulled too tightly and the twine of the rope just all snapped at once. "If you cast a spell over there, Lavender, make no mistake that I will take meticulous care to destroy you before you die," I bite out.

She looks over at me and arches an eyebrow in response, though her wand never leaves Romilda's direction. "Oh? Is that so, Harry?"

"I will crush you into the ground, make not a single mistake about that." I take two steps toward her and bring my wand up and point it at the space between where Lavender stands, and where Su is struggling to hold her ground as she gets the worst of the exchange between herself and Romilda. "And then I'll give your broken, ruined body to Romilda while there's still life left in you. I'm sure anything you might manage to do to her with the one chance you're going to get will _pale _in comparison to the hours of fun she'll have with you.

"I think watching the life fade out of your eyes before you even stop breathing will be quite the experience. Maybe we'll even tape it and send it in to Narcissa. Let her know what's next for her."

Lavender is seething by the time I finish speaking, and swings her wand wildly toward me, a trail of fittingly pale purple magic following its trajectory as she swipes her wand in my direction. I take a step back and watch it pulverize the earth where I had just been standing, eating through the grass and the dirt as if it were acid, leaving a caustic smell wafting up in the air. "Oh dear, Lavender," I mutter. "You missed." I look up at the girl, who is doing her best to remain as straight-backed as Romilda had been when we'd both last looked at her, but her façade was showing cracks. "That must have taken quite a lot out of you."

"I'll have more than enough to end you," she growls. "And then I will take special pleasure in draining every drop of blood out of your cold, dead body. You'll power our wards for _years_."

I nod at Lavender and then, without taking my eyes off of her, call to Romilda. "Romi?"

"Yes Harry?" she answers, and her voice sounds strong. A bit too strong. Anyone else listening would think that she still had the strength to keep the pace going for some time yet, but I could tell she was breaking down just a little bit. Her magic use is taking too great a toll on her, and if she doesn't end Su while she still has the advantage it was going to be a coin flip of who died, based on whoever messes up from exhaustion first.

"Stop playing around with her and kill her please. We have other things to do today."

I don't dare take a glance over toward her, but even over the pungent odor of decaying earth and scorched air, and that strange, charged feeling that excessive magic use leaves in the air, I swear I can _feel _her happiness at my order. That fight isn't going to last long, best if I make sure mine doesn't either.

Lavender makes the first move, sending three tendrils of grey magic whipping in my direction. Splitting them to converge on me from the left, right and above, she waits until the last moment to crack her wand like a whip and send them streaking down at my head. I flail my wand in a vaguely half-dome shaped motion over my head, and a wide-angled Cutting Charm slips through the air and severs all three whips of magic cleanly. I swing my wand back around to complete my flailing motion with the tip pointed at Lavender, and my magic gathers up the severed pieces of her magic and sends them hurtling back toward her at a far more impressive speed than she had let them converge on me.

She swats her wand and mutters what has to be the counter-curse, as the tendrils simply fade from existence. "That didn't go as you planned, I imagine," I call out to her.

She answers with a sneer too severe for her once quite pretty face.

"My turn then, you reckon?" I ask. I had already managed to get under her skin, and I intend to take full advantage of that. She slashes her wand and sends another spell I've never seen before hurtling at me, a vertical wave of undulating, pulsating blue magic. It takes a lot out of me, but I meet it with my own magic and stop the wave dead, pleased as I watch whatever it is wash impotently against the nearly invisible shield I create. When the magic fades I look right into Lavender's eyes and shake my wand at her like a parent would shake a finger while talking sternly to their child. "No. Bad Lavender. Bad."

She starts to scream as she charges forward, wand going this way and that with bursts of magic that, while little, the few I recognize belie their power by their otherwise small, muted appearances. I've seen Romilda cast a few of them in the heat of battle, and they're never pretty spells.

For my part, as this crazy woman charges at me wildly flinging spells, I run hard to my left and circle around her, evading the spells I can and shielding the ones I can't. Eventually I'm where she was standing and she's where I was, though she keeps wildly flinging spells and trying to charge me. For what, I don't know. For all of the growth magically little Lavender Brown has shown, she hadn't grown in height since she'd sprouted up to second tallest girl in our year back during the summer before third year, and she had actually dropped weight since her school days. I wasn't some brutish mass of muscle and asskicking, but she wasn't about to attack me physically while in her right mind.

"Stop running and fight me, you coward!" She snapped, and launched another barrage of spells at me. I saw openings that would have allowed some vicious counterattacks, but I have a plan and I fully intend to stick to it.

"No," I reply, and continue shuffling to the side.

"Fight me!" She screeches.

"Fuck you!" I screech right back. She unleashes her next volley of spells and then watches in horror as I dive to the side and they proceed to rip an unsuspecting Su Li to pieces before her very eyes.

Lavender stared down at Su's destroyed body in shocked disbelief. Her spells had brutalized the small Asian girl's body to the point where she was as much a smear on the ground by the time she landed as she was a person. Lavender looks up at me with even more fire in her eyes, and I fully expect her to open her mouth and spit literal fire.

She's just starting to open her mouth and raise her wand when her body goes slack and blood sprays for three feet to the side of her. Romilda then makes quite a big showing of blowing on the tip of her wand before she stalks over to Lavender's dead body and spits on her.

"Narcissa isn't going to be happy about this," I point out.

"I suppose," she responds, mutedly. The silence extends for another moment before Romi breaks it. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"About your last comment?" I give her a nod though I don't look away from Lavender's body. Brain matter has begun leaking out of her skull, and I simply can't look away. It's fascinating. Like grey water running out of a lake and down a waterfall to land splat on the grassy earth below. "I just wanted to clarify. Am I expected to give a toss about what Narcissa is or isn't going to be happy about?"

Her question draws me from my attempts to find the answer to life in the growing puddle of Lavender's liquefied brain. I look over to see her smirking just slightly, her big bright eyes boring into me with an intensity that made me feel hot all over within an instant of me falling under her gaze. If I was being honest with myself, I would realize what I was feeling and be at least somewhat sickened by it. Luckily I wasn't being honest about the fact that in that moment I was overcome with the desire to snatch Romilda Vane up here and now, take her to the ground and have my way with her. Or rather – in the case of it being said Romilda Vane – let her have her wicked, frightening way with me. Right there in the growing twin pools of Lavender and Su's life essence, for the few left in the marketplace to see.

"No, Romi," I reply, and can't resist reaching out to brush an imaginary speck off of her cheek. "I don't suppose you are."

She leans in to my hand and gives a soft, contented smile that doesn't suit the woman I know, but looks good on her only because I know I am seeing something I have never seen before, and won't likely see again. An open, vulnerable moment from her that's only for me and for a short time. "Good." And then the look is gone and she's back to the loveable psychopath I know so well. "Shall we go?"

I look down at the bodies and then up at her. "Well… look what we have here." Romilda arches an eyebrow inquisitively, though the same look holds no small amount of flirtation as well. I reach out and flick the lapel of her coat, opening up her coat and exposing more of the white shirt she had chosen to wear to my eyes, which I didn't know where prying until just that moment. "Romilda Vane: Professional Crazy Killer-Lady, has managed to escape a scrape without coating herself in blood."

She swats my hand away and then steps in toward me, her body precariously close to crashing full-on into mine. She tilts her chin up and manages to look down her nose at me quite impressively. "Are you attempting to insinuate something, Potter?"

"Of course not-"

"If you would like, I can jump into that puddle of blood and flail around like an infant," she says with the most imperialistic tone I've heard since I last heard Narcissa speak in public. "To help not destroy the image of me you have in your head, that is."

It takes me a second to realize she is having me on. I smile at her and she allows her haughty look to crack and she smiles back.

"Well, I suppose we should get out of here. You know, before they all converge on this location and proceed to wonder why we just killed two Defenders in the middle of a populated area, surrounded by all kinds of illegal goodies."

"They are quite goody."

"That's not how that word is used, Romilda."

"I just killed Narcissa's new heir apparent, Harry. I get to use words however I want to."

I concede that point as we begin to walk away, turning what Romilda said over in my mind a few times. Romi had stated Lavender as Narcissa's 'new' second. There was something there that couldn't be put into words by the woman walking with me, but I knew it had done her more good to kill Lavender than it would have done me to have ended the girl, by many orders of magnitude. I reach out and put my arm around her shoulder and pull her in toward me, and she takes the adjustment in her walking far better than I could have, melting into my side.

There was vindication for her in the death of Lavender Brown. Even though I knew to my core that Romilda was happier fighting at my side than at Narcissa's back, it still did something for her to know that the woman Narcissa had replaced her with had met her end at Romilda's wand. That the original model that had been put out to pasture after being deemed too unstable, insane, or defective, still had what it took to beat out the newer, shinier version it was replaced with.

I know I was imagining it but Romilda felt lighter somehow, even to me.

"Romi… thanks for being there, lately." She stops walking and I stop so I don't pull her over as I still am holding onto her. She looks at me blankly, so I clarify, "For having my back, you know. I'm… I'm glad you're here."

She continues that stare of hers, before speaking, slowly. "You're… thanking me?" I nod. "For having your back." Another nod. She cocks her head to the side and looks at me for a moment more, before she looks away from me, and to my hand on her shoulder. "You realize of course that, in time, I'll have your front as well."

She somehow manages to phrase this not as a come-on, but as a threat.

And as far as threats went, I knew better than to challenge her. Especially on this. "Of that, I have no doubt, Romilda."

The devious, victorious smile she gives at my acquiescence sends a chill down my spine, but seems to pool in my stomach and turn to fire as my eyes refuse to release the image of her lips.

"Come along, Harry. Much to do." She turns and starts walking, and her hold on my hand keeping it on her shoulder makes me start up right behind her. "And the sooner Narcissa is assisted off this mortal coil with the help of our boots, the sooner I can make due on my offer."

"It was more of a threat, really…"

"Shut up, Harry, before I 'threat' you against that wall right there."

"What does that even mean?"

Romilda turns and looks back at me. Her gaze is smoldering, and her eyes heavily lidded. "Keep talking and you'll find out."

The temptation to do just that tests my shaky grasp on my own willpower in a way I haven't had happen before in so long, the distant memory is but a silhouetted image backlit through a thick fog, seen at so great a distance I know I could never hope to draw close enough to make it any clearer.

* * *

People are scattered across the pews in varying states of disarray, and as eyes turn to me while I walk through the center aisle the realization that I am quite terribly out of place hits like a runaway train.

The lack of hope in the eyes of the little girl sat four rows back from the opening at the front of the church is a physical force strong enough to stop me dead in my tracks long enough to have her face burned into my memory for the rest of my life.

I was trying hard not to remember any particular person, but her… with her brown hair in a cute, short little style and a pink hairclip on the right side but missing from the left; she is going to stay with me for the rest of my life, I can guarantee that much.

"Her mother just passed last night. Complications from her injuries after… whatever it was that happened."

I turn around and look back to see Parvati approaching. To say she was walking would be being far too charitable with the word, so the closest I was going to get would be to say that she was making a valiant effort to hobble on toward me. Most of her weight pressed down heavily onto the wooden cane she carries, she seems mindful to only put her right foot down when the cane is there to catch her and keep her off of the ground.

And yet, she smiles at me when she sees me looking at her.

"Give me just a moment to reach you, Harry, and then I was hoping we could find somewhere to speak." She must see me opening my mouth to object to us going anywhere, as it is quite clear that she is having a time of self-locomotion, as her smile drifts down from her eyes and she gives a nod. "Worry not about me. I have been getting along just fine since this happened, I think I can handle a little distance more to provide us both the privacy you so necessitate."

She has no plans of being dissuaded, I can see that much in her eyes, so I give her a grateful nod and await her arrival.

Parvati Patil had been a beautiful girl, once. A little thin as a young girl, she had begun to fill out – and rapidly – just a bit earlier than the other girls. Barring her sister, of course. She'd thusly received quite a lot of attention from the males of the school, especially the ones in the higher years who saw the chance to… 'get in on the ground floor' as it were. But no one was supposed to know about that, which was why most people though Parvati something of the prude for seemingly never dating once while at Hogwarts.

She'd actually formed quite a close relationship with a boy some years above her in Gryffindor, but had folded to his belief that they should keep it quiet. When he'd graduated and left her there, she'd been heartbroken. She took that hurt and threw herself into her studies with a renewed vigor. And when Hogwarts ceased to be a place capable of facilitating magical instruction – or magic at all – she had gone the independent study route, with her sister right at her side, ecstatic to see her twin finally taking an interest in something that 'mattered'.

Jilted by a man she swore she loved, Narcissa's message of moving away from a 'patriarchal society' into something that 'worked' hit all the right notes for Parvati, and it wasn't long before she slipped easily into the role of a Defender, happy to be making the world a better place. Padma had looked on from the outside as her sister drifted away from her and further down the road of fanaticism that Narcissa was paving on a decline, gleefully bringing misguided souls to her way of thinking and then watching them glide downward past the point of any ability to recover.

Parvati told me a long time ago that you never forget your first. The one that causes you – directly or indirectly – to pass that point where there's no going back. 'The one that ruins you,' she had said, though it contained no form of accusation. For Parvati had passed that point with me.

"How are you doing, Harry?" she asks as she finally reaches me, pulling me out of my reverie on remembering time long passed. I gave her a sharp look in return, and she laughed. But it isn't the musical kind of laugh her sister has, the same kind she herself used to have. It is boisterous to be sure, but it is also rough, raw. Like her ability to laugh hasn't been used very often in a long time. "I suppose that was quite the dumb question, given the media has had no troubles tracking your exploits." She grins, bemused, and it pulls at the scar on the corner of her mouth. "As Harry Potter goes, so goes Britain," she mutters and seems to almost be quoting it.

"The real question is how are _you _doing, Parvati?" I rebut, ignoring her comment.

She gives me the same sardonic look I'm sure I gave her just moments before, and then looks around the interior of the church. "It's been quite crowded in here ever since the blast. When people find themselves with nothing… a lot of them inevitably go to faith. They look for something to believe in when they lose everything else." She smiles wistfully, her eyes tracking a long-lost memory. "It worked for me, I like to think."

The fog over her eyes clears and she looks at me, the weight of her full attention heavy and powerful. "Do you still have something to believe in, Harry?"

"Always," I answer immediately, no thought needed.

She nods her head, almost sad. "Yes… that's the Harry I know." She looks around the room. "You'll never be one of these downtrodden, I suppose. You'll believe in yourself until there isn't a single bit of you left to believe in." It's as much an acknowledgement of my character as it was an insult to it. "Doesn't existing in your own personal, private universe get lonely, Harry? Being god to yourself must get exhausting eventually."

The silence stretches for a long minute, and I'm aware that some of the ambient sound that had been in the large room has petered out. People are listening to my answer… and it's not an answer I wish to give in public. "Come, Parvati, let's go to that privacy you spoke of."

She holds her ground. "Can you not answer me, Harry?"

"I can," I respond. "But this is a place of hope. A place where people go when they lose what they believe in, and need to find something else to put their trust and faith in, you yourself just said it." I look over toward the little girl whose face had been so thoroughly imprinted upon me moments before. "Nothing I can say of answer to your question will do these people any good."

"See, I don't believe that," Parvati says, her voice pliant and gentle. "I think… if you really wanted to, you could give everyone here something to believe in. Someone to believe in. They have no one else."

"And you say that in this place? In this place of worship for them?"

She grins, and the expression appears less painful on her face this time – less displaced. "Blasphemous, isn't it? To suggest that these people need Harry Potter to believe in more than they need God?" She nods in response to her own question. "Maybe. But… these people have lost everything. They have been separated from their physical possessions, many of them losing their loved one, their flesh and blood.

"These people do not need an abstract concept of a deity to cling to, Harry. What good does it do me to push them toward something else that they cannot touch, at a time like this? Something not of flesh and blood, but of belief and… air." I can't stop the unbelieving look that attacks my face, and Parvati bows her head slightly and takes a cane-assisted step in closer to me. "You're a hero, Potter. You've always been one. Do you know what a hero is?" She doesn't wait for my answer. "A hero is just a worthy receptacle for people to put their trust and faith into. Nothing but a bin to hold the emotions of others. And the only responsibility of that hero, is to hold that trust and that faith and do nothing to destroy it until those people return to reclaim what is theirs and put it into something else." She lifts her head and her dark eyes bore into me. "Be the bin, Harry. It's what your good at. Open up, take what they give you, and don't fuck it up."

* * *

Parvati leads me to a side room off the main expanse of the church… chapel… thing, and her words run through my head all as we walk toward it. She's limping worse than she had been before, and I can only hope there's a chair wherever she's leading me.

"What did you want to see me about?" I ask as we head toward the door at her pace, which is quite slow.

"Wait a bit, Harry." She lets out a biting little laugh. "You always were impatient…"

"I'll have you know that it's no impatience. It is just a very strong case of having other things I need to be doing at every available moment of the day. So really, my supposed impatience is just my overwhelming considerate nature shining through."

"You're about as considerate as I am athletic, Harry," Parvati snaps out, and there is a hard edge to what I would have otherwise thought of as a playful little rebuke. She stops walking though and lets out a breath. "That wasn't fair of me."

"No. It was plenty fair," I respond. We reach the door and I jump ahead to hold it open for her. She gives me a look, but walks through without saying anything and I follow. The door closes on its own, and after turning to look at it, I turn back to see Parvati sat down on the small bed within, leaving a chair open across from it for me.

The room is Spartan, holding but a bed, a small desk adorned with only a single hard-covered book sat right in the center, and a chair placed before it. There are no pictures on the wall, no personal effects or mementos, though the smell of the room is without a doubt Parvati, and that it is the only thing that tells me it is her room. "Harry…" she takes another one of those deep, steadying breaths, and I brace myself. Those kinds of sounds are only made in preparation for a stark shift in the mood of a conversation, and I've never had someone breathe deeply and then tell me good news, just personally. "Harry, I asked you here to apologize… finally. It has been long enough – too long, really…"

"What…" She stops speaking and looks up at me as I interrupt her. "What the fuck are you on, woman?" She's taken aback by my comment, so I use that to bull forward. "What could you possibly have to apologize to me about? Look at yourself!"

"I do, Harry Potter." Her voice is icy. "I wake up and look at myself every day." Her dark eyes are locked right onto me, and if it wasn't for the fact that I'd seen much worse things today, I'd probably have been properly deterred.

Lucky me. "Precisely. And what you see is all my fault, do you understand that?"

"It was my fault, Harry," she responds. "Do _you _understand that?" I go to speak but she holds her hand up and there's no doubt in my mind that there will be no rebuttal allowed from me. "I did this to me!" Her voice is louder than necessary, probably in her attempts to get through to me. She waves her hand down at herself as if to accentuate the point. "Me. You might have done the casting, but I pushed you through it. And you know what? I thank you every single day for it."

"…What? Why would you?"

"Because you did this to me, Harry." She motioned with her hand, pointing to her broken body. "I'll never run again, or even have a particularly fun time with stairs, never mind the arm," she said, trailing off for a moment.

"I…"

"Good thing I wasn't a lefty like Padma, I suppose," she says, smiling weakly.

I still remember the curse that had severed her arm at the elbow, and occasionally get the ghost memory of the sound her forearm made when it hit the ground bouncing around in my head when things get just a bit too quiet. "I tried to get you help as quickly as I could, Parvati, I…" The inability to apparate was a damning loss, just from a personal level. It used to be, in an emergency situation, no one could beat a wizard for fast response time. So the necessity of things like proper routing for automobiles and the ability to quickly reach a hospital weren't things that anyone thought of. "After enough time passed… you were just bleeding too much."

"I talked to the doctors quite a bit, Harry. I was in there long enough." Her voice is pliant… gentle. Attempting to assuage me of the guilt I barely understood why I was feeling, though I knew I shouldn't. Shouldn't be feeling it, but also shouldn't be so relieved of it, if I was. "If was either my arm or my life. I thank you for your thinking." She shoots me a smile and for an instant, she's beautiful Parvati Patil again, stripped of the damage the world has done to her and I catch myself before I can start to do something I haven't done in who knows how long: blush like I'm a first year who's just had a pretty seventh year help me to my class and smile at me. "Thank you for giving me my life back, Harry. I owe you everything for that."

"You don't owe me anything, Parvati. After all I did…" My voice trails off of its own accord, so I settle for waving my hand in her direction.

"After all you did," she starts, and then pauses as she becomes aware of what I do at the same time – the sound of hushed, frenzied speech accompanying purposeful steps toward us. "We'll call it even," she finishes, just in time for me to be unable to respond as the door to the room flies open and I see Romilda standing there with fire in her eyes. Just over her shoulder, I can see Susan – in all of her redheaded, eyepatched glory – deep in hushed conversation with… Padma?

This isn't good.

"Romi…" I trail off, mindful of how Parvati's hand is inching toward the wooden cane she had set down next to the bed. I slip out of the chair and move to put myself between the two women, though Romilda's eyes are solidly on my own, and the heat coming from her is nearly a palpable thing.

"Harry… something's happened," Susan says, moving closer toward me. Romilda doesn't move from her spot taking up the doorway, and it seems like she is almost attempting to keep me separate from someone.

"I take it this is going to be a bad something, then?" It's barely a question. I know my luck, and I also know Susan well enough to be able to tell when she's uneasy. Largely because unease is an emotion she pretty much never involves herself with.

She nods in response.

"Harry, I'm so sorry…" Padma says from behind Susan, and Romilda releases something that can only be called a growl, resonating low in her throat and damn near feral. Padma takes a step back and Susan shuffles over to put herself between Romilda and Padma, which also places her between Padma and me.

Yep. Not good.

"What, pray tell, is she sorry about?"

Susan takes a breath and then looks away from me, though I note she is drawing her wand slowly. "After leaving seeing you, Padma ran into Demelza Robbins. I'd sent Robbins out to check on Pansy, and provide some supplies for her. For some reason that I will never understand, Demelza thought it wise to forward the task off to Padma."

"And Demelza didn't fire on Padma immediately… why?" I ask through gritted teeth. I don't like where this is going, not one bit.

"She came upon some privileged information that she shouldn't have had, it would seem, while getting far too comfortable in my office. And for that, I am more than at fault," Susan says, her voice low but there is clear anger barely held back. "A mistake I most definitely will not be repeating."

"So Padma went to Pansy, wherever you have been keeping her… and then what?" Pieces already start to click together and I become very aware that my wand is in my hand and I don't quite remember reaching for it. Romilda widens her stance further in the doorway in front of me, and she sets her jaw.

"I was followed, Harry," Padma says, softly. "And…"

"If she's hurt and you all have me trapped in here like some caged animal, so help me god…" I grind out.

"Patil got followed to Parkinson, Harry," Romilda finally says, her voice simple and clipped – disaffected. "There are reports that Narcissa showed up personally." She took a breath and then met my eyes. The breath wasn't for her sake, but to give me a moment to process what she had said and brace for what she was going to say, and for that I would forever thank Romilda. She knew right then what I needed better than I did. "They burned down the house, Harry. And made damn sure Pansy went with it."


	17. Chapter 17

"Susan."

"Harry?"

"If you still have any of your double-agent operatives in the Defenders' building, you should really get them out of there by tonight."

"…Harry?"

"Because tomorrow morning when I hit that door, everyone in that building dies." I turn and look at her, and she flinches back. Understandable. "Everyone."

Romilda turns away from me and Susan backs away from the door. I follow the dark-haired girl out of the church without a word spoken, and keep my eyes focused on the way her back is straight and her body tensed.

Susan calls out to me when we aren't far from the church, and after enough times of her screeching my name into the night air like it's the most vile word anyone will ever hear, I turn to look at her.

The streetlights wreak havoc on her hair, and the way it bleaches out her skin is the furthest thing from attractive. She has her shoulders set in a way that – for some reason – reminds me terribly of Hermione, back when she would demand to get her way in school. It's a look I haven't seen in ages, and most assuredly not one that has worked in at least twice as long.

"People die for this, Susan. Make no mistake. Don't for a solitary second think that she's going to get away with this. She's going to hurt. She's going to pay. And then she will _burn_. And if I have to burn the world to ash until it blocks the sky in order to get to her, then I hope you never enjoyed the sunrise because you won't be seeing another."

"You realize the consequence of threatening me, correct?" Her voice is meant to be dangerous.

It isn't.

"It was only a threat if you want it to be seen as one. I am simply letting you know right now that Narcissa and all of her brainwashed ilk will not see another full day on this earth. Do what paperwork you must, grease as many hands as you need to, to smooth it over before tomorrow. Or don't, and simply let it happen and watch the flames from afar. Sweep in and be the hero, cleaning up after destruction you knew was going to take place ahead of time." She glares. I don't care. "I do not have a preference either way, truly. She dies tomorrow."

Romilda reaches up and puts her hand on my shoulder. If it was anyone else, I'd have shrugged it off and called it a clumsy attempt at solidarity; of commiseration. But it isn't just anyone. It's Romilda. And in her own special way, it's as heartfelt as she's capable of. Perhaps even more so. Her voice is soft. Not gentle – Romilda is never gentle, even at her most delicate – but just soft enough to not bruise the part of my sanity she was propping up with that hand of hers. "Come, Harry."

I gave her a single nod, and let her lead me away.

In the morning, Narcissa was going to die. Romilda being who she is, I know she will be right at my back, following me into the hell that I was going to visit upon Narcissa and anyone who has taken up her banner. That much was a certainty much more powerful than any other I have ever known.

But for the night… this night. This cold, bitter September night, I am going to grieve for Pansy Parkinson. My friend.

"Tomorrow, Romi," I whisper, as much to the girl as to the universe – a statement of clear, concise intent. "Tomorrow, I make everything right."

* * *

The Defenders' building is huge. And grey. The drab, mostly windowless exterior hides any number of happenings within from the prying eyes of the public that normally stroll past it from day to day.

The sun isn't even shining when I stop across the street from the glass doors at the street-side entrance, Romilda half a pace behind me with her hand splayed across my lower back.

"It would seem Susan heeded your warning, Harry," she whispers, her warm breath brushing across my shoulder. "No one on the streets for at least a few blocks in every direction."

"Yep."

Her hand inches higher up my back, so I take a step forward into the street and away from her. She follows and I don't know what I expected. She damn near chases me halfway across the road before grabbing the back of my shirt in her grip and yanking me to a stop. Her hand slips up the back of my shirt and her skin feels icy against how hot my skin feels. Her eyes bore into me and dares me to try and move again.

"Don't comfort me, Romilda." I'm distantly aware that my voice comes monotone, but can't muster up the energy or desire to reintroduce inflection. Won't matter. I'll be yelling soon enough. She sends me a look in response that had probably made quite a few people piss themselves, once. Psychopathic killer glares at you, you stop what you're doing and start doing something else immediately. Shame for her it didn't work. Maybe she was getting rusty.

"Stop trying to calm me."

She continues to rub at my back, her hand never warming from freezing against my burning skin. "I'm not," she snaps, matching my lack of inflection with far too much of her own to fit in those two simple words.

"Then?"

"I'm touching you. Feeling your skin while it's still whole and letting you feel me while I'm here, even if it means nothing to you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She gives a wry smile, and it fights hard to touch a part inside of me that's just too far for her reach. "You're not going to stop until you get her. And I won't stop until you're standing over her dead body, even if that means I leave every one of my organs in a straight line down that hallway in there behind me. We'll succeed. But even I'm not so deluded as to think we'll get out of this untouched.

"So if I'm going to die getting you to your revenge, then you are going to shut the _fuck _up and let me have my way with you here in the middle of this street until I've decided I've had enough. Do you understand me?"

Even in my mood, I know she isn't to be argued with with that look in her eyes. So I stand here, holding her eyes until she removes her hand from my shirt.

"We aren't going to die, Romilda."

"You can't make that promise to me, Harry," she says, simply.

"Yes." I take a step in to her. "I can promise that."

She blinks twice, and then her face slides away from the placid expression she had been holding – trying to hold me together by being the strong, sane one for us, I imagine – back to the look I know so well. And there she is… the insane woman I need so badly for this.

Not a word is said. None are needed. She nods at me, I nod back, and we take our positions, her once more at my back, her hand pressed to my lower back.

I take two big steps with Romilda right at my heels, and I feel the slight weight in the air as we cross through the ward lines. As soon as we are across, Romilda tenses so sharply it infects me. I barely catch myself as my clenched jaw starts my teeth grinding.

"Let's hope you were right, and Susan cleared everyone out," I say back to Romilda.

* * *

Warding constructs are strongest when designed with a specialty in mind. Ones that protect from threats outside of their borders are stronger than those that have to eject interior threats. They also last longer.

Given that I hadn't been sent careening through a wall and out of the ward boundaries a broken mess the time I'd escaped from Narcissa's tender-loving care when I was last within the building, I knew that the wards were the type that only blocked exterior problems. Like a magical dome of sorts, meant to soak up a large amount of punishment before they were drained and left the building undefended.

Funny thing about wards like that.

Once you're within the boundary lines of the wards, they do absolutely nothing.

There is a repulsion ward practically hugging the lines of the building designed to do nothing but send anyone within the wards attacking out of the outer ward lines so the building can lock itself down.

Pity for them that repulsion wards are fucking weak, no matter who you get to toss them up. On his best day, Albus Dumbledore _might_ have been able to cast a repulsion ward that could stand up to a focused breaching attack from me in this post-Ambient Loss world long enough to get me tossed out of the ward boundaries before I collapsed the repulsion ward.

Penelope Clearwater is not Albus Dumbledore.

But so much emotion is coursing through my veins when I raise my wand and level it at the doors, it really wouldn't have mattered if she was.

I take a deep breath, focus my mind, aim my magic, and let it go.

My fucking arm nearly buckles.

The repulsion ward is torn through so quickly I don't even feel it push against my body before it collapses with the sound of shattering porcelain, grating stone and a haunting breathy sound that almost sounds like a tired sigh from something far too large, or much too close.

Breaching attacks are meant to destroy a ward, and are rarely packed with enough power to do much else. Mine snapped the repulsion ward and carried on to obliterate the front section of the fucking building, accompanied implausibly with nary a sound to disturb the morning air.

I feel the wards behind us snap up impotently and almost laugh.

I trudge in through the gaping hole where the doors had been and can feel the adrenaline start to flood through me. My ears are abuzz with white noise and my head is swimming. A heady feeling, bloodlust. I barely keep from shouting Narcissa's name like a bad villain in an action movie. The need to see her, to bleed her across all four corners of the building and then slaughter her like nothing more than livestock is so strong is rattles my bones and blurs my vision for an instant. Every cell in my body is demanding retribution in the form of her death, and now.

I settle for using the marble remains of the receptionist's desk to crush the skull of the first responder as he ran up the hallway to investigate. His blood flies down the hallway behind him in a mist, and there isn't enough of his head left to even out his original hair or skin color.

I turn down the darkened hallway and see it all but devoid of bodies.

That wouldn't do.

Not at all.

I raise my wand and cast a _Caterwauling Charm_ backed with enough power to make it sound like a hurricane had taken up residence in a whistle factory that had just opened up in the expanse of hallway in front of me.

That should wake them up.

It only takes a long beat before I know it works. The sound of an innumerable number of feet on the stone floor coming from all directions fills the empty sound that had settled its oppressive presence down on the empty air that had come after I stopped my charm.

Good.

Come little lambs.

"Trainees," Romilda says as the sound of feet grows closer. "Their barracks are closest to the door. Coldest area in the building."

As the first trainee rounds the corner, robes half-on displaying a lithe frame well made for sprinting, I don't have to wonder if Romilda has grown a conscience since the last time she'd encountered a trainee. The tall man has just put his weight down on his left leg in mid-stride when Romilda's spell removes it from his body.

The next person around the corner takes a bludgeoner to the stomach that explodes her innards out of her back before she even hits the wall behind her. The sound of the spell impacting the stone wall is a deep bass to contrast to the wet splat the back of her skull makes as it bursts open.

The two deaths alert the slower trainees to expect a fight and they come around the corner slinging spells in any and every direction.

For all the good it does them, they might as well have stayed in their beds and waited for us to come in and put them down like rabid dogs.

Three well-placed mutterings of _"Expulso" _leave the high stone ceiling of the extended hallway dripping pink matter down on the heads of those that had avoided the impact of the explosions through dodging, luck, or intelligent shielding.

Romilda is throwing around her Shearing Charm like she's skeet-shooting moving targets, and limbs fly this way and that like morbid party confetti. Her smile grows with every successful hit, and the madness starts to create its own light in her eyes. The urge to ravish her here and now hits so hard I stop casting and feel my jaw slacken at the unabashed bliss across her face as another nameless trainee falls to her spell and gasps out his final breath on the blood-soaked ground beneath his feet.

Romilda had been dismembering the trainees, and between us we had thinned the herd of foolishly undertrained first responders from about two dozen to the remaining five or so, though all credit couldn't go to us. In the initial frenzy, the ones in the back had been cursing the ones in front of them, their inexperience working in our favor. However, with the number reduced, and one or two better trained Defenders showing up to investigate the sound and smell of death at such an early hour, their tactics improve out of sheer inability to get worse.

Romilda dives bodily to the left to dodge a crackling bolt of angry orange magic that was coursing right for her, and something in me snaps. I hear it.

My throat starts to burn as I advance forward, my wand slashing and stabbing at the air in front of me in no clear wand motion for any spell I know, but the magic comes, and does it ever.

The short, pudgy man closest to me in a dressing gown over white pajamas just explodes. Not in a shower of body parts, but into a mist. The woman behind him crouched down using him for cover gets half a second to react in shock before she's sent hurtling horizontally across the wide hallway at speeds high enough to get her a ticket on the motorway. She hits the stone hard enough to dent it. Her body fares worse than the rock. Two more nameless, useless fools fall to their fate at the hands of a wave of fire that snaps into being just long enough to sear them into blackened husks only slightly similar in shape to human bodies.

Blood is so thick on the floor my feet slosh through it as I continue forward. Romilda comes up behind me, her face split into a wide-eyed, toothy smile straight off of the most horrifying porcelain doll imaginable, the whites of her eyes visible completely around her irises.

"Harry, they're dead," she says, a crazed laugh barely restrained. "You can stop screaming."

I didn't remember screaming. "Which way?"

"Every way! Every which way, more to kill." She's practically bouncing in place.

"Which way to Narcissa?" I clarify to the fully, terrifyingly beautifully broken woman before me.

"Narcissa can wait…" she almost growls. "More."

I take a large step in to Romilda's personal space, and it isn't with gentle intentions. "Where!"

She concedes the space to me, though she doesn't lower her head in deference. "Left."

"Thank you." There is no thanks in my tone, and she doesn't try to find any. She simply keeps her eyes locked on mine for a moment before reaching up and brushing her thumb under my eye. She leaves something warm behind, and it smells heavily of iron. "Romilda, did you just wipe blood on my face?"

"Come, Harry," she says, turning and heading left.

I go to follow, but stop when she does. She turns back and waves her wand in a vaguely S-shaped motion at the hallway we had just come from, her eyes closed and mussed in concentration. Amazing how she could look like she was focusing and still maintain the crazed smile on her face in spite of it.

The puddle of blood on the floor ripples and a vaguely light blue sheen coats the air like a curtain being unfurled from the ceiling down to just brush the floor.

"A repulsion ward?" She grins in response, and turns toward the blood-splattered stone wall directly across from the hallway she had just laid the repulsion ward down on. "A repulsion ward without a trigger." Another wave of her wand, and the blood on the wall bubbles and seems to almost burn, before the stone beneath ripples like a tumultuous sea just to shoot out a few dozen foot-long spires of stone at a parallel to the floor.

Anyone who tried to escape out of the decimated exit without destroying the nigh-invisible repulsion ward would be sent back quite abruptly from the hallway by the overactive ward, into the spikes.

"A…trap."

"I am more than simply mindless violence, Harry. I can plan."

"…Right."

"I planned to get you, didn't I?" Her eyes are overly large again. "And look how well that has worked out. Just perfectly."

"There's no way you planned all of this."

"Or is there?" She skips off down the hallway she had motioned toward again, and I can't keep my eyes off her. That need to push her against the wall bubbles up in my stomach again, and the pungent odor of blood seems to slip into my body and set it aflame from within.

I'm just catching up to Romilda when someone comes flying around the corner ahead of us, slinging spells down toward us near blindly. Romilda hits the ground and returns fire, while I snap a shield up across the entire width of the hallway at chest-level which blocks the spells coming in toward me.

"_Accio!" _I bark and yank my wand toward me. Romilda comes sliding back up the hallway toward me, firing spells the whole way. The summoning charm catches her just in time to pull her out of the way of the follow-up barrage from the next woman to come rushing out from cover to fire on us. Romilda's body stops just beside me and I cast _Duro _on the shield and watch its new weight drag it down to land on the ground with the grace only a huge chunk of rock could be cursed to have.

Spells rip at the chunk of rock we are ducked behind. "Who?" I bite out.

"Elite Guard. The robes-"

I stop listening when I hear the first two words, and between a break in spellfire which is likely them shuffling position, I vault clear over the stone shield I'd created and sprint down the hallway.

I take aim and mutter "_Expulso"_ just before Lisa Turpin sticks her head out from behind the cover of the wall she's hiding behind to fire on me. She only avoids taking the explosion to the face when Alicia Spinnet tosses up a shield in front of her face with such speed it actually shocks me. And it wasn't just a small shield to cover her face, which would have left her body open to receive the shrapnel from the deflected curse, either.

"Harry," Alicia says, stiltedly.

"Hello, Alicia," I respond. "I see you've come up in that job you were talking about. Last time we spoke you were still fretting on the promotion."

"As I remember, we didn't do a lot of talking."

"You didn't complain then."

"I didn't, no," she agreed. "But I suppose it is only fitting that I get to pay you back for not calling me afterwards."

"And by payback, I see you mean attempt to kill me, then." Lisa sticks her stupid, ugly face out from behind the shield again, and I fire a spell to blow it up. Alicia shields her again. "Stop doing that!"

"You attacked first, Harry. We are just defending our home." The words stink of political jargon that'll surely be used to cover them if we end up carted out of here in bodybags. "We can work something out, maybe, if you just-"

"I've had enough mid-fight conversations with people to last a lifetime, Alicia. Forgive me if I skip this one," I say, and duck. Romilda's pair of spells shoot up over my head, and as I expected, Alicia tosses up a shield to block them, dissipating the one blocking Lisa to funnel the power into reinforcing the one against Romilda's spells.

I slash three quick Cutters in Lisa's direction, and then toss a Banisher from the ground into the bottom or Alicia's shield.

Lisa whips her wand this way and that, deflecting my spells, but I hear the ground crunch as the angle of Alicia's shield shifts and leans forward. She crouches down to keep her head protected, and doesn't get a chance to do anything else as I take over bludgeoning her shield from below while Romilda draws Lisa's attention with a series of curses I don't know. Lisa clearly does – or at least knows the level of their power – as her eyes take on a panicked look as she flails wildly attempting to deflect them, calling out to Alicia for assistance.

Alicia can't help however, as her shield continues to tilt hard down toward the ground, to the point where I can see her kneeling just to keep coverage of her head. Can't have that.

I fire two overpowered Bludgeoners to the base of the shield, and then a third up at the top. The top of this shield whips back and slams into Alicia's forehead, knocking her for a loop. Her shield flickers in and out of existence like a dying television.

Lisa lets out a scream as one of Romilda's spells clips her shoulder and blood starts to run down her arm. Alicia's eyes shoot over toward her, and she grimaces. "I'm sorry, Lisa," she calls out, and then fires a _Tergeo _over toward Alicia's arm. The blood gathers and is summoned toward her before Romilda can leave the wounded Lisa and turn toward the more pressing target of Alicia. I fire a pair of Bludgeoners that catch Alicia on the side and have to break a few bones, but the blood makes it to her. She splays it out in front of her and a heavy, metallic shield springs into existence with the sound of a gong.

Lisa visibly sags, and Romilda goes for the coup de grâce. Lisa's head rolls down the hallway and the blood spout that flies up into the air is almost greedily snatched up by Alicia. A wave of heat hits the hallway, and my heart stops.

_Fiendfyre._

"Romi, back!" I scream and scramble back at a dead sprint down toward the rock shield I'd erected back down the hallway. Romilda flings herself over not long after me, and I actually have to reach out, grab the front of her shirt and pull her straight down toward me to keep her from sailing wide over the shield. It's a close thing when I do, too. She lands on me just as the snapping maw of a fiery lion closes on the space over the shield where she had just been.

I push her off of me and scramble up to my feet. She hops up beside me and we're sprinting down the hallway to the sound of roaring fire behind us, scorching the air at our backs.

Romilda sprints on ahead as I glance over my shoulder, magically pulling chunks of rock from the walls and hurtling them down the corridor toward where Alicia had been previously, hoping to score a hit or distract her purely by luck. The sound of something striking that damned gong-like shield is all that meets me in return for my effort.

"She can't control it too far," Romilda calls back as she continues to run, going right past the hallway we had entered to head down the right hallway – the one we hadn't taken. I follow her down, and hear the sound and smell of the fire tapering off. "She'll have to chase us to keep it up."

I nod once. I'd known as much. "Which should keep her away from Lisa's body."

A whistling sound is all that proceeds a chunk of rock slamming into my hip with enough force that I almost fall over, only saved thanks to Romilda catching me.

"What the fuck!"

"Damn," Alicia's voice sounds from down the hallway, clearly tinged with exertion. "I was aiming for your head. Suppose I'm rusty after all these years off the pitch."

"I am going to take _great_ pleasure in pitching her head down this hallway," Romilda growls out as she helps me stand.

Alicia comes into view down the corridor from us propping up that metallic shield of hers with one arm and still and dragging Lisa's body by the arm, leaving a trail of murky, dark red blood along the floor behind her. What I had thought was a lion constructed of _Fiendfyre_ was in fact a Gryffindor griffin.

"Well that didn't go how you expected," Romilda mutters. Her wide eyes still show mirth and excitement despite the fact that we have no plan to beat Alicia.

And she was stalling us.

Narcissa was either shoring up her people to prepare to fend us off, or she was plotting her own escape.

"Alicia."

"Harry?"

"I'm going to kill you. It will be less brutal if you just give yourself up now. If you make me waste further time, I will not be held responsible for what either of us do to you, or your body after you're dead."

"Did you just make a necrophilia joke, Harry?" Alicia asks, her eyebrow arched incredulously.

"If you don't die quickly, I will personally fuck your dead body with a table leg," Romilda barks out to save me from needing to say something similar, with much less panache than she has for such things. Romilda gives Alicia a lingering glance, and shakes her head. "No… I think I'm going to do that anyways. But if you just lie down and die now, I'll remove the leg from the table before I do it. For anyone who might want to bury you while you're still in one piece."

Alicia doesn't move.

"Good. I always like it better the hard way," Romilda drawls out in a very near moan.

Alicia flicks her wand and the fiery construct that had been stood behind her patiently leaps into action, covering ground like no real creature could ever hope to. And with each bounding step, it is accompanied by an eerie lack of sound, not even the sound of flames.

Romilda dives right while I dive left, and I only realize the whole thing is a feint – a trick – when it's too late. There is the roar of fire and otherworldly heat behind me, and then…

And then the world becomes nothing but _pain._

* * *

_Fiendfyre _is not true fire.

It is something dark, and sick, and far more than that. Vile, disgusting magic, twisted and woven around fire, tainted to the point where it is very nearly sentient, for no force of nature or no mere magic can hold the kind of… evil that is contained within it. As it washes over me, I can almost hear cackling laughter spreading like a crashing wave beneath my skin as it blisters and burns instantly. And then the cold begins to spread, like thin, spindly fingers pushing through the skin and muscle of my back and reaching into my chest with maniacal greed.

Fire is a destroying force, first and foremost, but it also cleanses – strips away imperfections and impurities. _Fiendfyre_ does not do that. Any positive use that can be found in true, real fire cannot be found in _Fiendfyre._

You cannot cook by it – it will destroy all you put around it and rot the food even as it melts the pan.

You cannot gain heat from it for long unless you are willing to accept the horrible sickness that accompanies long-term exposure. Far better to brave the cold than the shakes and vomiting from the _Fiendfyre._

The light it gives off is… faulty. False. Any flicker of a shadow it plays upon a wall could just as easily be a cruel trick as an accurate reflection.

_Fiendfyre_ is not true fire. It has one use, and one use only.

It burns in a way that fire could only wish to.

* * *

Romilda's scream very nearly drowns out my own, but hers isn't a pained shout. The pain eases slightly, enough for my brain to start to compose itself and start turning on vital processes – like breathing – and turn off the pained scream that has stripped my throat raw and left me tasting blood with every hyperventilating breath.

The sound of a body impacting some distance away is audible, and then there is the searing, disgusting scent of _Fiendfyre_ banging full-on into the magic of a shield. It is a smell I have been unfortunate enough to bear witness to before, it and is the kind that stays with you forever, burning a memory of the stench into your mind just as surely as if it had been a literal brand.

"Harry!" Romilda screams, frenzied.

"Fine…" I croak out, throat burning in protest. "I'm fine." I get my eyes open and reach the foot or so for my wand just to be hit by a new kind of agony. The skin on my back tears open like wet paper and blood starts the run over singed flesh. I might as well be bleeding alcohol for all the good it does my burnt skin.

I snatch my wand and slash it down, creating another shield behind Romilda's, though it takes me two attempts to get it constructed and not collapsing on itself immediately. An intoned _"Duro,"_ and the shield hardens to stone, though I can see immediately that it's nowhere near as sturdy as the last one I had made.

"Drop your shield," I grind out, getting a handle on the pain that seems to be making a resurgent attempt to shut down my higher brain functions as I try and sit up. "Don't feed it more magic."

"What do we do, Harry," Romilda asks. Her question isn't in a panicked voice, or even an uncertain kind of lilt, but she says it as if she was a troop and I was her commanding officer; a formality of necessity.

"We kill her," I bite out through the pain that is still racking my body like a low buzz going through my bones.

"And how do you propose we do that? She's slowing us down, and Narcissa is either going to be getting out of the building or coming around this corner with reinforcements in the next few moments."

"Then I guess we need to kill her fast then," I snap at her. "Help me up and I'll fucking do it." Romilda gives me a look for a beat and then rushes over and pulls me up to my feet. I can hear the stone shield being torn apart, and the smell of molten rock hit me as soon as I get standing, as it sits in their air around head-level.

I make a waist-height shield and harden it with _Duro_ just in front of us, and pull Romilda down behind it. I don't sit down like she does, because something tells me the next time I sit down, I won't be getting up for some time, and I don't have the time to be injured, there's too much goddamned killing to do for rest. "Keep your head down," I mutter and take aim with my wand.

It takes me a moment to calm myself and center myself as the shivers of pain from the burn keep racking my body, but as a chunk of rock crumbles out and I can glimpse the _Fiendfyre_ construct through the space, I can see I'm out of time.

I think to intone the incantation just to ensure that I put a voice to the magic in case the pain I'm in ruins my concentration too much to be able to silently cast the spell. But even as I start to say the first syllable, I know it won't be enough. I need the spell to land where I need it, with as much power as I can put into it. And sometimes that requires childish things like yelling.

As the words leave my mouth, Romilda's eyes get huge and she ducks down and covers her head with one of her arms. As soon as the spell leaves my wand though, she snaps her wand and a wavering pale blue dome-like shield appears over my head. Which lets me watch my handiwork as it happens.

The crumbling rock shield explodes outward in a shower of gravelly shrapnel. The narrow passageway we fight in helps to contain the force, and I can _hear _the shards of rock cutting through their air, whipping through the space. Many of them hit Alicia before she can think to get her shield up, and even when she does raise that accursed metallic shield up to cover her body as she tries to slash up a magical shield, more get through, slicing at her exposed legs mercilessly. The break in concentration left her _Fiendfyre_ construct blinking out of existence, and as soon as it is faded into wisps of unnatural fire in the air, I am hurdling the small wall I had been behind and rushing toward her with adrenaline flooding my veins and bludgeoning anything that looked like it was pain into submission. It would be temporary, but it would last, goddamn it. It had to.

Lisa's body got perforated to the point where she was damn near more hole than body, and what was left of her blood was leaking onto the floor around her. Alicia peaks out from behind her shield to see me charging for her and the way her eyes widen is almost comical. She points her wand in the direction of Lisa's body, and I can barely hold back a smile – which I'm sure would look terribly psychotic – when Romilda banishes Lisa's body down the hallway with such force it actually lifts up off of the ground to hurtle into the darkness of the distance at speeds great enough to pretty much ensure that when she landed, she'd do so with a splat and in several pieces.

Alicia slashes her wand and a shield appears in my path. I dodge to the right to see her snapping another in place there as well. She does another to my left before I even bother to try and get through. I look at her through the shields and shake my head.

I banish her shields, sending them in three different directions, and she narrows her eyes and backpedals as a rain of Cutters fly at her. Her shield sounds like a gong being hit with every impact, and her movement is slow as she crouches down to try and keep as much of her body as possible hidden behind it. When I stop casting, she sneaks her wand out and three more shields sprout up to my left, right and center. I attempt to banish them, to find them immobile, steeped in the ground at my feet somehow.

"Romi! Go find Narcissa. Don't engage her, but for the love of god make her think you're going to. Keep her here!" I call out, and Romilda sprints past me not a moment later. Alicia casts a spell at her, but misses as she has to spin to shield herself from a Bludgeoner I was able to sneak in through a gap in her shields I can hear breaks her shield arm. Romilda tosses a spell over her shoulder at Alicia, and Alicia is only saved from being beheaded because she crumbled from the pain of having her arm snapped, and it sailed right over her head.

I look at Alicia through her shield-wall as she lays on the ground with her eyes wide. "Yes," I say to her, my voice bouncing off of the walls of the suddenly deathly silent hallway. "You're going to die."

"M…maybe I will, Harry," she stammers out, trying to crabwalk back with only one functioning arm and doing a very bad job of it. "But… but Narcissa will get away. You won't assassinate her."

"Oh, I'm not going to assassinate her." I point my wand at the center shield in front of me and say _"Reducio"_ just loud enough to Alicia to hear me. Her eyes very nearly pop out of her head as her shield shrinks and I step right over it to advance on her. She continues a more frantic pace of trying to back away from me, the crawling keeping her wand occupied and her unable to cast anything on me as I advance. "No, I'm not going to assassinate Narcissa. Assassinations are for political figures that are removed from power for a political reason. No… what I'm going to do to Narcissa isn't that.

"I'm going to murder her. Brutally. I am going to destroy her. She's going to beg for death, and in the only mercy I will _ever _show her, I will give it to her." I continue to walk slowly toward Alicia, seeing the fear blossom in her eyes. "A mercy I shall give to you, as well. Because we were friends, once." I line up with her shield and hit it with a Bludgeoner that fills the hallway with a loud gonging sound, and sends her skidding further down the hallway, screaming in pain. "At least, I thought we were friends. Once. But I was wrong, wasn't I, Alicia?" I hit her again, and she slid further down the hallway, screaming once more.

"Friends don't murder other friends' best friends, do they? That's not something friends do, Alicia!" I reprimand her, distantly aware that I am being condescending as hell, and now isn't the time for that. But goddamn it, someone had to suffer for this, and Narcissa… Narcissa doesn't deserve to suffer, not matter what grandiose statement I made to my intentions toward her. She deserves to be walking at her haughtiest, and simply have her fucking head fall off of her neck. She doesn't deserve the chance to know death is coming to her. She gets no moment of realization. "Because that's what your people did. You burned my best friend to death." I bear down on her, hitting her with another Bludgeoner, to her wand arm this time. The bone snaps and her wand bounces down the stone corridor away from her. I have to hand it to her, she keeps looking up at me, despite the pain she has to be in.

No. Fuck her pain. She attacked me with _Fiendfyre._

It clicks in my head at that moment.

"No. Not your people. _You!_" I point at her, and can feel heat rising in my body to the point where I am shocked I can't hear the sweat on my brow sizzle against my skin. "_You killed her!_"

"Harry…"

I take a breath and try and calm. It doesn't work. "You of all people should know how I defend my friends, Alicia. I will go to the ends of the earth to protect the people I care about." Tears fall from her eyes, either in pain or fear I don't know and couldn't care less. Mine would fall, but the heat coming off of me seems to burn them away. "I failed to protect Pansy, Alicia. I failed her. She is dead because I didn't find a way to keep her alive." I stop just above Alicia's body, and look down at her.

Alicia Spinnet had been a beautiful girl back in Hogwarts. Athletic in a sense, she was a smaller girl with long dark hair, pale skin and the most crystal blue eyes I have ever seen in my life. She played Quidditch because she wanted to and because she loved it, but all through school made it quite clear that she had no intention of playing professionally. Of the three Gryffindor chasers, she was the most educationally-minded, and could be found in the library about as often as she could on the pitch. But nonetheless, she was one of the better chasers in the school.

We had met after Hogwarts on a street, just in passing, and she had given me the most darling smile. Demure in all the ways that could draw any man's attention, while still holding the strength of a woman capable of making her own way in life and needing no man to take care of her. She was beautiful in every way that she had been in school, and then some – taking everything that she had been and improving on it so greatly my breath was almost taken away being in the presence of someone who seemed to have come out on the other side better than they had been. I hadn't seen that from anyone.

She carried herself as a woman who had made her own way in the world, had no regrets, and knew what it was she wanted. And as those pale blue eyes fell on me, and she smiled with those dimples of hers, I knew quite well that in that moment, what she wanted was me.

Even then, though, we had been on very different paths in life. As we spoke about inconsequential things on that street corner, she had been moving up the ranks of the Defenders and I had been living in Gringotts, wishing with all that I had to never have to interact again with the people I had known in another life. But I forgot all of that in that moment. Her smile had foolishly made me believe it wouldn't be all bad. That maybe there was still something outside of those marble walls for me.

Within a week or meeting Alicia by chance and having a night with her – my first since my foolish night with Fleur – I had found Pansy there, so pitiful and broken. A shadow of her former self. Dying a slow, heartbreaking death that was so cruelly deserved it was almost poetic.

Pansy Parkinson became part of my life in that moment, and in some ways, it was because of Alicia Spinnet. How different Pansy was from the brunette I had met by chance – how representative Pansy was of the world that seemed like only Alicia had risen out of unscathed.

I look at Alicia lying there broken on the floor and feel none of those emotions I had been so brutally and unmercifully assaulted with upon looking down at Pansy so broken on the floor so years before. I don't even feel pity.

"I may have failed to protect her, Alicia, but I will not fail to avenge her. Make not a single fucking mistake on that. Let the sureness of this sink into your mind, and take it with you into the darkness. Take the knowledge that there will be others following not long behind you into your grave. Let it warm you." I point my wand down at Alicia, who at this point is sobbing freely, but is unable to scramble back from me any further as the weight of her shield and her pain keep her glued to the spot. Or maybe, it's the weight of her guilt. I know my own was making it hard to keep standing.

My voice is almost a whisper when I speak the incantation. _"Incendio."_ A slow, almost liquid fire slips from the space just before the tip of my wand, and splashes down on Alicia and the shield she lays beneath.

I turn and walk away as Alicia Spinnet burns to death on the floor of the Defenders Headquarters, taking great care to stomp my booted heel onto her discarded wand as I walk in the direction Romilda had run off toward.

* * *

"How did you manage that?" I ask as I look at Romilda standing at an intersection of hallways, watching me approach.

"Manage what?"

I motion at her, and she looks down at herself. She is literally dripping blood. She tilts her head in thought for a moment, and then says, "See, when you cut someone's limb off, Harry, they tend to bleed. Unfortunately for me, I have this bad tendency of getting too close to them while they are deep in the throes of this particular happening."

I give her a look to let her know now isn't the time to be a smart ass, and her placid expression informs me that now is, in fact, exactly such a time as far as she's concerned. "Where is she?" Romilda points down the hallway in response, and I nod and start to walk down the way she pointed.

"She's getting desperate," Romilda says, and I can hear the warning in her voice. "She was throwing recruits at me like confetti instead of people. It would be hell to explain to the press assuming she lived long enough to do it." Romilda takes a shaky breath, and there's something in her voice when she speaks again that sounds horribly like hope. "It means she's out to survive, and isn't thinking about the consequences." Her mouth curls into a smile and the blood dripping from her face somehow manages to slip off her lip and avoid going into her mouth to stain her impossibly white teeth. "She's reeling, Harry. Probably didn't think we'd get past Alicia and Lisa before she finished whatever she has planned. She's panicking."

"You assume she has a plan."

"I know she has a plan," she corrects.

I nod. "She can have any plan she wants to. I don't give a shit. She's going to die today if it means I bring this building down with all of us inside of it." If I didn't know any better, I'd swear some of the heat I had spilled out onto Alicia was still kicking around inside of me. There's this fire in my gut that is banging around, hitting my ribs, running up and down my organs, requesting – no, demanding – release.

"If it comes to that, I'll barricade the doors while everything crumbles," Romilda says with a smile in her voice. It's a struggle of will not to reach out blindly and take her hand with mine for just a moment. To feel her skin against mine. Not because I think it will calm me – no, I know without a doubt that I will never truly feel calm again, not for the rest of my existence. But so I can shove some of the fury raging inside of me off into her. If there's anyone who will take it without question or need for payment, it's her.

The edges of my vision are starting to blur further with every beat of my heart. She's close. Narcissa is close. Her time is ticking down with every passing second, and I can _feel _those ethereal clock hands moving closer and closer. Or maybe that is just the countdown clock to the complete loss of my sanity.

Either way, I know: we're going to do this.

"We're coming up on the back exit of the building. Susan's people should have it covered back there if she tries to go out. If not, we'll have her pinned. No other way out of here." Romilda starts walking passed me, and brushes her hand past mine in a short gesture that could be accidental if it was anyone else. But it isn't. "She had this place built like a maze. Works against her now."

I give a simple nod and walk ahead of her. "Make this blood you love bathing in useful, would you? Set another one of those traps here, just in case she throws people at us and tries to make a run for it. I'm going to continue on."

"All but one path down there dead ends into the back-end barracks. You don't know where you're headed."

"I'll look for anything moving, and make it stop doing so. Eventually she'll be the last thing twitching on the ground." I stop and look back at her over my shoulder. There's something almost… dare I say it, _demure_ in her as I focus on her in the dim lighting as she looks down at the dead bodies at her feet and digs the tip of her wand into her palm, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. But she catches me looking and before my eyes she transforms. Her back straightens, she stops poking her wand into her hand, and that nigh-nervous look slides off of her features to be replaced with a violently haughty expression all her own.

Only Romilda could make being splashed with swathes of blood and viscera a fashion statement. Only she can make that flickering light of insanity that resides just behind the eyes and shines through like a lighthouse beacon cutting through the elements and the darkness alike seem enviable. A character trait all her own that makes her better for having it and all of us weaker for not.

She looks down her nose at me, her chin tilted up and to the side just slightly, and her lips curl back into that smile of hers. "Make her scream, Harry. Make her squeal like a pig, flopping around in her own blood on the floor searching for an escape that she won't find and mercy that she won't receive." She takes only a single step toward me – far too small a distance covered to even challenge the space that now separates us, but there is a challenge in that step so intense that she might as well have stepped into my personal space and grabbed my chin in her hand so I could look nowhere but at her. "You hurt her, Harry."

I give her a nod, and that's all that she needs. I turn and walk away, knowing she won't be far behind me.

I'm left with my thoughts for only so long before the rumblings of panicked voices spill into the hallway.

"There can't only be the two of them," A soft, female voice says.

"Who else would it be? You've seen what they can do. They killed Lavender!"

"Lavender was never as good as she thought she was. And Narcissa spent so much time trying to recreate Vane…"

"Well those are voices I haven't heard in a long time," I all but shout, letting my voice echo off of the empty corridor. "Hello Ernie. Angelina."

There is a long pause, and Ernie's voice answers. "I take it, then, that Lisa is dead."

"Brilliant deduction."

"And Alicia as well," Angelina says, hurt in her voice.

"Now, Alicia I can only assume. Last time I left her, she was burning alive. For all I know she might have found a way to snuff out the fire before it killed her." A bitter, derisive snort leaves me before I realize it wants to, thought I wouldn't have stopped it if I'd known it was coming. "I hope she didn't."

"How… how could you, Harry?" Angelina's voice breaks with her question, and she comes out from the safety of the room she and Ernie had been holed up in to stand in front of me.

Angelina Johnson was a beauty in school – she had to be, with the way her, Alicia and Katie all competed with each other about any and everything. She was taller than either girl, and had a certain kind of presence to her that made her seem both unattainable and irrationally approachable. She was the kind of girl you felt like you could go up to and strike a conversation up with, but would be shaking in your boots about asking to Hogsmeade.

The Angelina that stands before me still hold remnants of that, ghostly wisps of that personality circling around her countenance, but her eyes are bloodshot and puffy, her bottom lip chewed to the point of bleeding, and her clothes in complete disarray.

It isn't the way I want to remember her.

"Angie, come back…" Ernie shouts after her, still inside the room as if it will protect him. She gives a defiant shake of her head, and straightens her back as she looks at me. And before my eyes her confidence pools back around her and she's less of a shadow of the Angelina I remember, and more like the girl I remember mocking the other two Chasers for not keeping up with her during practice on the pitch.

"You aren't going to stop until you get to Narcissa. I heard a little bit about what she did, and if I were you – if I had the power you have – I wouldn't stop either. You won't trust me, and you shouldn't. So strike me down now, and by god go avenge whoever it is you're fighting so hard for." She must see the confusion on my face, because she gives me a faint smile. "Vengeance is a disease, Harry. It will eat you up inside the longer you hold onto it. It'll destroy you. And if there's something this world doesn't need, it's an unstable, broken Harry Potter. Not with you being able to pull buildings out of thin air when I can't even conjure up a match to light a bloody cigarette."

Ernie steps out of the room and wraps his hands around Angelina's arm. "Don't kill us please, Harry. We're just administrators – we sit behind a desk all day. All of that stuff Narcissa has been doing… we-"

"He has to kill us, Ernie." Angelina says almost as surely as if she were stating the day of the week or the color of the sky. "And making excuses won't change that. We've made our choice; we chose our side. And the side we chose made it so he doesn't get to make a choice in this. He's as bound by Narcissa's actions as we are." Angelina gives a clear look to the empty spaces at my sides. "And I'd much rather he did it than Vane."

Ernie visibly shudders, but nods. "We picked wrong, Angie." He gives her a sad, sardonic smile.

She nods in response. "Suppose I should have listened to you all those years ago when we were deciding." Her voice is low, and there is an undercurrent of dark comedy to it. It's a whispered exchange between what I am now sure is lovers, that a part of me feels like I shouldn't be seeing. That I'm intruding. The part of me that isn't itching to shut them up by ending both of them here and now.

"Do it then, Harry," Ernie finally says, raising his head as if presenting his neck to me and taking a deep breath – his last, he's sure. His hand seeks out Angelina's, and she clasps his in solidarity, though her eyes never leave me. They are almost sad, but they are fully resigned.

"As fun as this has been; what with the whole life lesson given to your killer thing you're doing here Angelina, and… whatever the hell it was you were trying to accomplish, Ernie, it's all been quite overdrawn, unnecessary, cliché, and has taken far too much of my valuable time," I bite out. Ernie actually recoils at the rebuke. Sad for a man who seemed ready to go to his death with head held high. "Get back in the room, and keep damn quiet so Romilda doesn't decide to clean up what is likely a colossal mistake I'm about to make by leaving the both of you idiots alive." Ernie gives a nod and runs into the room like his feet are on fire, but Angelina blinks twice at me, otherwise immobile.

"But… why."

"I'm not a fucking monster, Angelina. If anything, I wish I was. It would only make everything I've done and have yet to do easier on me. Narcissa and her ilk have to pay for what she's done. And believe me, they will. Violently. Blood will run and lives will end at my hands today. And I will pay for what I'm doing here, somehow, someday, I have no doubt of that.

"Don't stand in my way, and you can continue living. Go hide, and if you're lucky Romilda won't burn everything in that room for kicks. Or, if you're so hung up on joining Alicia, keep standing here. I'm sure she'll be happy to oblige you. I, however, have places to be." I step around her and continue down the hallway.

I'm some distance away, thoughts of Angelina and Ernie already leaving my head when she calls out to me. "Harry!"

I turn back toward her just in time to see a glimpse of Angelina's radiant smile. And then her head rolls off of her shoulders. And for just a moment before her body topples, Romilda's head seems to rest on Angelina's body, before the darker girl crumples to the floor and Romi's blood-stained, tall, slight form is once more in view.

"You should really watch these side rooms, Harry. Anyone could be hiding in them, waiting to curse you in the back," she says, pointedly. She hurries across the distance between us, and hits me with her shoulder as she starts to pass, spurring me back to moving down the hallway.

"I…"

"Narcissa is this way," she says, pointing down a side corridor. She walks past me without another word, leaving me with Angelina's headless body and the sound of Ernie's muted sobbing trickling out from the room he is just inside the doorway of.

* * *

We reach the end of the corridor without encountering anyone else for Romilda to gleefully decapitate, and as much as I am pleased to not have to expend anymore energy on a meaningless fight, I'm worried.

It's quiet. Too quiet. Quiet enough that all I can hear are the click of our shoes on the stone and the pumping of my heart in my ears as my body tries to whisper sweet nothings of pain, as if attempting to remind my focused, rage-addled brain that I am, in fact, badly burned and should take a break at some point to keel over and die.

Romilda is at my side, and hasn't spoken a word since Angelina.

It happens suddenly.

It's quiet, and then there's screams that seem to come from everywhere, accompanied by the smell of burning ozone and the nearly palpable weight of magic – and a lot of it – dropping down on the air around us and some distance ahead of us suddenly and ruthlessly. And beneath all of that, is the smell of iron; the smell of blood.

Romilda starts running, and I make an effort to follow her only to hear about it from my body. Nope, running is out. So I follow at a brisker pace than my normal walking speed, approximating something of a lumbering gallop. This leaves a fair amount of distance between us when Romi hits the double-doors at the end of the corridor, flings them open and rushes into the room. The room that I can see daylight in.

She barely gets a few steps into the room before she's hit by a blast of magic and disappears from view.

Panic hits. And it hits _hard_.

Fear and anger individually have been known to allow for amazing feats. They both hit me at once, and pain or no pain, I'm barreling down the corridor at a dead sprint, pain long forgotten.

I hit the door and don't even slow down. Magic flows out of me before I even look to see where to aim it, and for a while there is just the low hum of magic displacing air, and the heavy percussion sounds of vastly overpowered Bludgeoners hitting everything.

Everything but a body.

"Harry."

She speaks my name without a hint of inflection – she's not shocked to see me, and I can't imagine she would be, given the damage I've done getting to this point.

Narcissa.

She's a tall woman. Beautiful once upon a time, with a poise that few people ever are able to properly affect. Haughty at the least, yet still very clearly not a façade – not something put on and taken off as one would a garment that isn't a part of them. She is, without a doubt, exactly that poised when she rolls out of her coffin, or whatever it is that the bitch sleeps in at night.

"I'm going to kill you." Simple words, really.

She gives me something of a polite smile in response as she raises her wand to point at me, and it takes a beat after I snap a shield up for me to realize she isn't pointing her wand to threaten me – to cast a spell on me.

She is pointing her wand to designate me. Mark me.

Magic comes from everywhere but behind me, and the shield I've snapped up crashes down just as I cast another. And then another. And the battering continues, as I take steps back in retreat attempting to keep myself alive over the barrage of magic slamming into me.

My shields begin to last less and less time under the assault – not because I am faltering with my magic, but because they are being particularly loose with their own. This is it for them. And unless I can figure something out, it will be for me.

There is a scraping sound behind me that I can't turn to investigate. But I don't have to.

Romilda's voice cuts through everything. She screams; two people lose their fucking heads in a spray of mist and a gush of blood.

The attacks stop for a beat, as every turns to look at her, myself included. She stands there, blood visibly running down from an open cut along her side, her breathing so heavy it seems to actually take a labor of her whole body to continue the intake and exhalation of air. Her skin is paler than usual, and drawn sharply around her just-too-wide-open eyes, and pulled back far too much around her mouth. Her teeth are bared, and if Romilda had ever looked feral before, it was _nothing _to this.

"Expected nothing else," Narcissa says just before slashing her wand and actually casting a spell at Romilda. Romilda shields against it, but the force actually twists her partially around, presenting her back to a cloaked woman who's standing near the door.

She raises her wand to curse Romilda in the back, and it's the last thing she does.

_Duro_ hardens the shield just before I banish it toward her. The slab of stone digs a track in the marble flooring beneath it and when it hits, it turns her into a fucking stain in the dent in the wall behind her.

"No. You fight _me_." It comes out as a growl, and spells start to sail toward me in response. Useless distractions easily dealt with by a shield and the diversion of Romilda removing body parts like a chainsaw loosed on a pile of dolls.

Narcissa gives me a dismissive look and raises her arm to curse Romilda again.

She changes her mind when she has to shield herself from losing her fucking head. Even still, my Cutter is strong enough to dig a shallow cut into her neck and send a silver chain she is wearing around her neck down to the floor. The locket that had been hanging on the thin chain breaks when it lands, and she watches it shatter. Misses Romilda's attempt to put her insides on the outside and splatter bits of her spinal column across the wall behind her. Only manages to survive because some member of her Elite Guard jumps forward and blows a lot of her magic tossing up a shield to protect the woman. Even still, Narcissa reels like someone just punched her in the stomach and the woman who had shielded her takes a very rapid path from ceiling to floor thanks to a low angled Bludgeoner. She doesn't survive the twenty-foot drop back down.

"Thrown enough lambs to slaughter for your mistake today, don't you think, Narcissa?"

I'm not expecting some kind of villainous rebuttal from her, and I don't get one. She sends a twisting bolt of magic at me that – for the instant I'm standing in the way of it – reminds me of a burnt, thorny branch. I shift to dive to the side and feel my body give out beneath me. I hit the ground and her magic sends a web of cracks along the wall behind me. Almost as if in answer, Romilda sends the same curse back at Narcissa, and then for good measure, three or four more in all directions. Two land – one burrows a hole through the stomach of a blond girl I distantly recognize as Megan Jones that's big enough for me to clearly see behind her. The other one leaves a crater where the head and neck of whoever it hit had been.

Narcissa's eyes flash, and for a second she glances over her shoulder at the open door there. Those near the door rush through, while a pair of women in the cloaks of her Guard stand up and move to flank the taller woman – the one on the right moving gingerly and very clearly hurt.

"If you run, I will chase you," I bite out, staggering to my feet trusting Romi to cover any attacks as I get up. "I will hunt you down." Her cold grey eyes are waiting for me once mine lift up off of the spinning floor beneath my feet to find her body, swaying gently along with the rest of the room around me.

"Your nobility is misguided, Potter," she informs me regally. "Your desire to make things… _right," _she spits the word as if it were disgusting, "Is silly."

"This has nothing to do with making anything right."

"Oh? Doesn't it, though?" She gives me a small, mocking smirk. "So this has nothing to do with your desire to hurt me for what I did to your precious little pet cripple? That weak little thing leaning on you to keep her standing?"

"I will gut you with my bare hands for what you did to Pansy."

Romilda takes up the space next to me, but her presence doesn't provide calm. She's fuel to the rage.

"And in doing so, you will prove my point, Harry." She gives me a wicked little grin. "Why… it was in this exact building not that long ago when I swore I would break you." The grin mutates into a full, detestable smile. "Do you feel broken yet, Harry?"

I snap out a curse, and it's a testament to the speed of the flanking Guard that they are able to keep Narcissa's body in one piece. Romilda's spell comes right behind my own, and the two of them reduce both of Narcissa's personal shielders down to the knees from exertion of keeping the bitch between them from being turned into something only suitable to be scraped off of the wall.

"What did I tell you, bitch?" I launched a few more spells – I was in no rush. Her Guards would run out of magic long before I did. "You can't break me."

"Oh… I learned that, yes I did," Narcissa confessed. "I've long since worked out that you are much too stubborn to break. And for that… I am sorry for my brutish, heavy-handed tactics proceeding this. I was going about it quite wrong, I'll admit. I have since learned." Narcissa tilted her head to the side and softened the expression she was giving me. It reminded me terribly of watching a mother speak to her child – explaining the way life works, and almost being sorrowful of needing to tell them that something works in such a terribly cruel way. "You are too strong to shatter. However," she looks over to Romilda, and there's a flash of something that looks suspiciously like betrayal. "Your friends… your friends are not nearly as resilient as you are. Not nearly as invulnerable." She looks back at me, and shrugs. Actually shrugs. "I'll just break you through them."

"Why don't you give that a try," I bit out.

"I've already killed one." She glanced at her wrist, and the watch that was there. "And around now, the team I sent out should be rounding up the second."

Things get cold – brutally so. "You're bluffing."

"No, not at all. The team led by Defender Weasley should have gotten to Surrey about ten minutes ago." Narcissa looks around her at the decimation surrounding her. "If this goes well, perhaps Ronald shall earn a promotion. Seems my personal detail has a few new openings."

"You sent Ron to Surrey?"

"Indeed I did." Narcissa smiles widely. "I do so wonder what he and the team accompanying him will find there. What they might bring back to me…"

"You won't be alive to have anything brought to," Romilda whispers, her voice cold. But it sounds so very far away to my brain.

"Oh, that wouldn't be a good idea. If I'm not available to contact, who knows what might happen to anything or any_one_ they may find living quaintly in… say… Little Whinging." Narcissa turns away toward the door, her escorts filling the space at her back to keep her protected from any curses that might be fired – their breathing is labored and they couldn't have done much magically before they'd be forced to fling themselves in front of any wayward bit of magic. "You are so very out of your depths, Harry. And with each passing action you continue to prove that you are nothing but a tool… a hammer, brutishly ramming yourself into any and everything in the world because it all looks like a series of half-exposed nails to you.

"All while never realizing just how much more useful and fulfilled you would be in the hands of a master craftsman. One able to make use of your particular skills to shape something better – something worthwhile that you could be a part of making." She's out of the door, but raises her voice to make sure I hear her as she disappears into the brightness of the freedom I had sworn to deny her. "I will most assuredly be in touch, Harry dear."


	18. Chapter 18

"Harry?"

The room drips with blood. Reeks of iron.

"Romilda. Leave this room."

She stays still for a beat, and then I hear her limping movement leave the room. I twitch my hold on my wand and the doors close behind her.

Privet.

Privet Drive.

Number Four, Privet Drive.

Surrey.

The strings dangle from every point in the room. Intertwining, glistening diamond threads. Some stick out of me. Not many, but some. Maybe seven or so. They are thicker than the normal strings – less thread and more twine. A couple wrapped around my feet, one or two jabbing through my middle. One that could only be called a rope is wrapped around my waist and dug into the ground like an anchor buried deep below the earth.

I start to move my wand like I was stirring. Slowly, but surely.

No.

There's no time for slowly but surely. No time for stirring, no time for being gentle with the strings. No time for gazing at the beautiful ethereal ties as they spin their story of reality and possibility in all of its eternal truth; caressing them and severing them neatly.

I take my wand in both hands and yank it across my body. Feeling explodes through me, from the way my back screams in pain as the burn tears open to the way the strings dug into my arms try and pull them back down with such excruciating force. The blood in the room – on the ceiling, the walls, pooling on the floor – jumps, as if suddenly shaken free of where it laid. Every drop.

I yank my arms up with every ounce of physical strength I still have in my body, the blood swirls and the strings snap. Every fucking one of them, and it's so loud it pops one of my eardrums and ruffles my hair.

My vision goes dark, and for a fleeting moment before unconsciousness hits me, I wonder if I'll ever see anything again.

If I even want to.

* * *

When it comes back, all I feel is pain. Everywhere. Every bit of my body is pounding in hurt, and the very air seems to be smashing agony into me with every passing second.

I push myself up from the ground onto my hands and knees. My vision swims back slowly to show ghostly-white hands so pale the veins stand raised and visibly blue. It takes a moment for me to realize they're my hands. When I do, I take note that I'm missing a finger. Left pinky finger; the stump where it had been weeping a small trickle of blood weakly onto the ground.

I cough and paint the ground underneath me a bright red from my blood. Not a light spatter, but a thick glob of it sits there in front of me with a strange fleshy mound of some kind right in the middle of it. The pavement around me is scorched black and cracked. Pavement. I don't know where I get the strength to stand, but I force myself to my feet and sway hard to the left, and then even harder to the right. I stagger drunkenly away from where I had lain and nearly trip over a fissure in the asphalt before my eyesight filters back into available use for things more than a couple feet in front of me.

Recognition floods my senses all at once and I'd smile if my mouth wasn't so full of blood that, if I do, it would pour down my front like an undammed river. I know the place I stand because I've been here many times before.

Of all the impossible things to be done, what I just did was considered the _most _impossible by some. And yet here I stand on Privet Drive because I'm Harry Potter and impossibility can go fuck itself.

"…Harry? Oh god Harry!" Tonks slips out of the door I'm facing, her face ashen. Striking against the dark hair she wears.

"Tonks get back in the house." She ignores me and runs over, slipping in under my arm and helping me across the street and to the front garden. She presses into my side and back, and I have to bite through my tongue so I don't cry out at the pain of her belt buckle digging into the opened burn wound. I pull away from her and lay down on the grass, the dew slipping over my wounds and hurting so soothingly.

"Wha… what's going on, Harry?"

"Get in the house, Tonks."

"Harry, something's going on. Tell me what's happening! I can hear sounds over on the other side of the street – flashes of magic."

Fuck.

"Tonks, get in the house. Close the door. Lock it. Lock the whole thing down and hide." I look at her pointedly and she blinks a couple times rapidly.

"Harry… something's wrong. Let me help you."

"You can't help me for what's coming, Tonks. It's too dangerous."

"Then shouldn't we all just run? We can pile in the car and get out of here!" I look over to the driveway to see a little beat-up car. Couldn't have cost much, but it was transportation. No matter how bad the car – as long as it ran, we'd be able to get away.

If only that were possible. "There's no getting away for me, Tonks." I lift myself up and she helps me to my feet. "I'm staying here, and I'm defending this house from anyone who might come near it. _Anyone._"

"You can barely move, Harry-"

"Shut up and get in the fucking house, Tonks." She doesn't deserve the tone I use. The look I give her. "They don't take _this_ house from me."

"It's just a house…"

I turn and glare at Tonks. I take a step toward her and it's purely out of willpower that I remain standing as my body tries to give out. "You don't get it. She doesn't get to win. Narcissa doesn't get to beat me! She doesn't get to take what she wants, neither do her people. And she sure as shit isn't taking this place from me. _She_ _doesn't get to win!"_

Tonks blinks owlishly. "N… Narcissa?" She must read my seriousness and divine an answer from that, because I surely don't give her one verbally. She reaches under the back hem of her shirt and pulls her wand. "Then I'm standing next to you. I'll hold them off."

"No."

"…You're human too, Harry. You're hurt. You can't do everything on your own."

I turn toward the road and see figures moving onto the street in the distance. "This… this I do on my own."

Tonks probably continues to talk, but I stop listening. While watching the figures start down the street, I see my missing finger in the street. Never really used it, not worth the effort to go get it. I wiggle the four digits left on my left hand. Good thing brooms don't work anymore; would have been a pain in the ass trying to steer like this.

When they are close enough to make out faces, I pool the focus I can and straighten my back. Appearances are everything before fights. If you can't look immaculate and have to look destroyed, then look like you're taking your own destruction in stride. Scares the shit out of people.

"Ha… Harry?"

I look at the leader of the group and give him a nod. "Ron."

"What are you doing here, Potter?" A man to his right barks out. Ron gives the man a look and he puts his head down, cowed. They are still some distance away – too far to start the spell-flinging, but I still consider giving killing the man who had spoken a try anyway.

"What _are _you doing here, Harry?" Ron asks with much less edge to his voice than the other man had used.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten? _This_," I motion to the house behind me and feel the burn on my back tear as I do. I grit my teeth and tear through a bit more of my tongue, but I don't cry out, "Ismy childhood home, Ron. I figured I'd stop in for nostalgia purposes."

They finally come close enough and I see the moment Ron notices my state. He gasps audibly and falters in his stride. "_Merlin_, Harry, what the bloody hell happened to you?"

"Narcissa happened to me, Ron." I say, simply. His eyes grew. "Narcissa and the rest of your comrades."

"They attacked you?"

"I attacked them," I correct. The men and women around Ron that don't have their wands in hand go for them, the ones that do raise them slightly. No one points their wand at me, but they are at the ready. Fools, thinking being ready means standing threateningly.

"What possible reason could you have for doing that, Harry?"

"Narcissa is going to die. I have no quarrel with anyone else, but she's going to die and you are _not _going anywhere near this house. If any of you feel you can live with the reality of these two things, you're free to turn and leave." I square my shoulders more and try to cut a properly-intimidating image as my words hang in the silence. To be fair, when you're leaking blood out of your mouth with every word you speak yet still continue speaking, it does affect you with a certain aura. As such, a couple of people in Ron's group look pensive and one woman I don't recognize actually puts her wand away entirely and takes a noticeable step away from the rest of the group, her cheeks a bit green.

"You can't attack Defenders, Harry. That's terrorism." Ron's voice has a trace of pleading in it, like he's begging me to see his point of view. I see it – I have no delusions about what I have done. I also have no doubt it was the most necessary thing I've done since I ran back into Hogwarts.

"That's _justice_, Ron." I sniff the air. It is charged. The fighting isn't done. But in my life, I can't think of a time it ever isn't. Probably won't even stop when I'm dead. "Pansy's dead," I mention, offhandedly. It wasn't an offhanded thing, but to Ron it needed to be said like that, because it is the only way he'll understand.

Ron blinks, and his face doesn't change how I expect. He doesn't even ask how it happened. It clicks.

"…And you were there when she died." I take a shaky step forward. "You were there when Alicia burned her to death." They aren't questions. Accusations. Damnations.

"I told them not to, Harry. I tried but Narcissa wouldn't hear it."

"And you didn't stop them, so what sodding use were you and your empty words?" Rage bubbled in my stomach, and the next step is far less shaky and eats up more space. "What good does it do me that you 'tried,' Ron? What good did it do Pansy."

"Stop right there, Potter, or we will curse you," the man next to Ron threatens, bringing his wand up and pointing it at me.

He explodes in such viscerally pretty colors. _Expulso _is such a nice word.

His blood splatters the pavement, and before it can even settle I pull it up and it disappears to the wave of roaring flame I use it to make, the fire crashing down on three people standing nearby that begin to raise their wands.

A pair of spells careen toward me and I snap a shield up which I immediately harden and use to kill one of the two that fired at me. He dies crushed between it and the pavement with enough force to send cracks in the pavement in all directions. My shoulder explodes in pain and the ground is hard against my spine as I land on it. My back screams in pain and I howl in rage in response. The pavement turns to shrapnel near my head, and Ron's voice comes out steady. "Stay down, Harry."

"Fuck off, Ron!" I slash my wand and he hops over the cutter. The woman behind him falls over with her blood gushing over the pavement and the bottom of her legs feet away from her.

"Sara!" Ron shouts and rushes to her side.

I stagger to my feet behind the shield I place around myself. "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I hurt someone you care about, Ron? I'm so incredibly apologetic for this terrible turn of events." He turns and gives me a glare, his ears bright red. "But if she survives, at least she can learn about not walking from your sister." I cough and spit out a glob of blood. "Alas; I've more than filled my life's quota of helping cripples."

"When did you become so cruel, Harry?" He has tears in his eyes and hurt in his voice. I'd smile if I had the energy to spare.

I let out a sharp breath to stave off the pain in my body as I stretch my back. I can _feel _the skin tear and the blood stream down. "I hate you, Ron. I don't mean I dislike you, I mean that I hate you. I hate you because you're stupid." Ron stands, his grip on his wand tight and his knuckles white. The few remaining Defenders in the periphery moved to tend to Sara.

"I'm going to hurt you, Harry." I noted that he didn't threaten to kill me. Even in his rage, Ron wasn't _that_ deluded.

"Your brother killed Luna to use her blood and you continued to work beside him. Buried your head in the sand and just kept on moving like you were all in the right. Your boss kills Pansy and you're standing there watching her do it,and what do you do? Not a bloody thing."

"What did you expect me to do, fight them all by myself?" He screamed back at me.

"Yes."

"They would have slaughtered me."

"Then you should have fucking died, Ron," I spit at him. "You should have given your life for Pansy Parkinson and you should have been more than willing to do it."

He blinked a couple times and then let out a clipped bark of a laugh. "You're a delusional fool, Harry."

"And you're a villain. Not the worst, but you work for her – a fucking henchman. Worse than Fred." Ron's face reddens in anger. "At least he could blame insanity." Ron slashes his wand at me and the dull thump of his spell hitting my shield reverberates down the street like a struck gong. "You… you're just either stupid, a coward, or worse – both."

He growls low in his throat and slashes his wand again. He hits my shield again, and I can feel the shield is close to breaking. Doesn't stop me. "I take it you found Bill on your way here."

Ron seethed. "Bloody bastard shot two of my men before we could put him down." Ron sneered. "The rest of my team is tending to Ginny and cleanup."

"So I should kill you before they get over here, is what you're saying. Alright. Appreciate the tip, mate." I say the word as sarcastically as possible.

"You can try, Harry." Ron whips his wand and pulls a stream of blood from behind him that turns into a spiky spear of magic as it flies toward me. It explodes through my shield with the sound of shattering glass and glances the side of my hip. Pain bounces around the inside of my body at high speed and the world goes white for a second. Maybe a minute. Maybe all of time – when you hit that level of pain, time stops being a meaningful, actual thing.

I drop to a knee and pull a dome shield over my head as I wait for the color to come back and my blood to stop being made of acid. The sound of spells banging into my dome shield is loud and painful as the world filters back in. Blood runs down my leg onto the pavement and pools around my foot. I look out through my shield and through the gaps in spellfire see a pair of people standing up from beside Sara's body. If they've given up on trying to tend to her, then she's dead.

Good.

I banish the shield I'm turtled under toward Ron and whip a lash of magic at the Defenders by Sara. One shields but the other is blasted across the street, not through the air, but across the ground. His body bounces along the pavement and hits the wall of a house hard enough to crack the front-facing windows. It lays there, immobile. Hopefully for good.

"Just two of you, left, Ron," I call out.

"More than two," he replied. I look over his shoulder and see the rest of his 'team' coming around the corner, likely alerted by the spellfire. There are a dozen of them, at least.

_Fuck._

An idea clicks in my mind suddenly, and I toss up a shield behind me and take off as fast as my battered and broken body will carry me back toward Number Four. I get to the lawn and slide across the grass just in time to feel spells shoot over my head. I roll in my slide, aided by the moist lawn and point my wand back toward Ron and the other man. His team is running down the street now and there isn't long before they're here. I could try and curse them, but it wouldn't do me much good without luck on my side. And I have no doubt whatever store of luck I have has gotten me this far and is very likely running on fumes. So instead, I try and split my focus as many ways as I can, and shout out, "_Accio!"_

Three bodies shoot through the air and hurtled toward me. They slam into the shield I raise and crumple down beside me like puppets with their strings clipped. Three dead bodies, including Sara.

I breathe out slowly, and then cast three Severing Charms, one for each body, just at the neck. Their heads flop back – only barely spared from decapitation – and blood flows thick and quickly, pouring over the grass and staining it. I'd never been good at this sort of thing. One could even say I'd been bad at it. I didn't have the delicacy for it; the intricate touch. But there's a strange kind of power in desperation. The skill of the master lays waiting for a novice aided simply by enough necessity.

I whip my wand down; the blood gathers and then the air around the house shakes like a dog trying to dry itself at the sudden placement of the ward snapped into place. Quick and dirty. Ugly. Weak with the amount of blood used for it – but it would buy me a precious few minutes. Wars have been won with less.

Crawling up the steps as Ron and his team immediately begin casting spells into the ward, I bang my fist on the door and call out to Tonks inside. She pulls the door open. She shouldn't have, but I'm glad she does. She helps pull me into the house and pushes the door closed behind me. I slide around the entryway until my back is against the door, close my eyes, and let out a long, slow breath. I can feel blood pooling beneath me and trickling down the wooden door at my back.

When I open my eyes again, I'm staring straight into someone else's eyes.

My heart aches.

My body tenses up so suddenly it hurts.

My hands shake, and it's not from the blood loss.

Her eyes shine in the low light, and show her distress with such honesty it's overwhelming. I haven't seen such bold-faced truth in so long, seeing it again is almost foreign – but is damn sure painful. Her fear is infectious; it creeps into me and crawls along my gut until it is clawing at the inside of my chest, bumping up against my hammering heart and crushing it.

She stands there looking at me and worrying her lip almost viciously.

"H…hey," I force out through gritted teeth, hoping to do her the service of not showering her in my blood.

Lame. Insufficient.

Even broken as I was, I owed her more. So much more.

She blinks a few times, and then tilts her head to the side to regard me. Those eyes of hers. Big, blue and bright... she has her mother's eyes. "You're hurt. Why are you hurt, Daddy?"


End file.
